yabo 


ita 


^  •'^."'^ 


^ 


A 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/dodgecitycowboycOOwrigrich 


•  •  • 

•  •    • 


R.  M.  Wright,  1875 


Dodge  Ci|b?^ 

AND 

Tne  Great  SoutKwest 

IN 

TKe  Days  of 

The  Wild  Indian,  tKe  Buffalo,  tKe  CowLo^), 

Dance  Halls,  Gambling  Halls 

and  Bad  Men 


'^ 


BY 

ROBERT  M.  WRIGHT 

Plainsman,  Explorer,  Scout,  Pioneer,  Trader  and  Seuler 


PREFACE 

T^^HETHER  a  preface  is  explanatory  or  apologetic,  is 
'  ^  immaterial,  in  the  use  we  make  of  this  one.  Local 
history  is  both  personal  and  public;  but  the  narratives 
of  a  border  life  or  from  conspicuous  events,  having  an 
origin  and  a  purpose  similar  to  the  discovery  of  a  new 
country.  Local  history  is  the  result  of  development  and 
progress;  and  each  city  or  state  history  is  the  example  of 
the  whole  country.  The  history  of  Dodge  City,  however, 
includes  a  wider  environment  than  the  ordinary  city  or 
town,  because  it  was  the  focus  of  a  range  of  country  two 
hundred  miles,  north,  south,  east,  and  west.  Therefore, 
its  center  of  gravitation  was  equal  in  extent  to  that  of  a 
state.  Upon  this  axis  revolved  and  oscillated  the  bull- 
whacker,  the  buffalo  hunter,  the  cowboy,  the  humble 
citizen,  and  the  desperado.  The  character  and  life  of  this 
mixed  class  of  citizenship  was  greatly  sharpened  and  en- 
hanced by  reason  of  the  strenuous  and  characteristic  im- 
pulses which  governed  the  circumstances  in  pursuit  and 
development.  There  was  nothing  passive  in  the  life  of 
the  plainsman.  The  objective  was  the  supreme  motive; 
for  he  stood  in  face  of  danger,  and  his  quickness  of  in- 
tuition and  sense  of  warning  kept  him  always  alert.  A 
character  built  up  under  such  conditions  must  have  been 
able  to  cope  with  the  dangers  and  hardships  incident  to 
a  country  infested  with  warlike  bands  of  Indians,  and  of 
outlaws  which  followed  on  the  flanks  of  civilization. 

It  is  the  author  of  this  book.  Honorable  R.  M. 
Wright,  we  wish  to  emphasize  in  this  simple  explanation. 
Mr.  Wright  came  to  the  plains  country  a  few  years  before 
the  civil  war.  As  a  young  man,  active  and  vigorous,  he 
became  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  chivalry  and  courage,  fol- 
lowed by  those  traits  of  character  inevitable  to  this  kind 
of  life;  charity  and  benevolence.  Many  of  the  narratives 


TS9296 


in  this  book  are  largely  his  own  personal  experiences; 
and  they  are  written  without  display  of  rhetoric  or  fiction. 
In  everything,  Mr.  Wright  took  the  initiative,  for  he  had 
the  ability  and  had  acquired  an  influence  to  accomplish 
whatever  he  undertook.  Possessing  wealth,  at  one  time, 
he  fostered  every  enterprise  and  gave  impetus  to  its  ac- 
complishment. These  are  living  examples  of  his  public 
spirit  and  generosity;  and  these  are  living  memories  of 
his  charitable  deeds  and  benevolent  gifts.  This  book  is 
a  fitting  testimonial  to  his  life  and  character.  Time  is 
generous  in  its  rewards;  but  no  testimony  endures  which 
has  not  a  basis  upon  which  to  found  a  character  worthy 
of  testimonial.  Mr.  Wright  will  give  this  book  as  furnish- 
ing an  example  of  what  constitutes  greatness  in  life;  for 
few  men  have  passed  a  severer  ordeal,  in  greater  hardship, 
and  in  more  danger  to  life. 

N.  B.  KLAINE. 


INTRODUCTION 

A  T  the  solicitation  of  many  friends  and  acquaintances 
as  well  as  a  great  many  people  who  are  desirous  of 
knowing  about  early  life  in  the  wild  west  and  the  Great 
American  Desert,  especially  in-  wicked  Dodge  City,  I 
write  these  true  stories  and  historical  facts.  The  task  is  a 
pleasant  one.  As  I  look  back  and  endeavor  to  recall  the 
events  of  that  period,  a  kaleidoscopic  panorama  presents 
itself  to  my  mind — a  picture  ever  changing,  ever  restless, 
with  no  two  days  alike  in  experience.  In  those  days,  one 
lived  ten  years  of  life  in  one  calendar  year.  Indians, 
drought,  buffaloes,  bad  men,  the  long  horn,  and,  in  fact, 
so  many  characteristic  features  of  that  time  present  them- 
selves that  I  am  at  a  loss  where  to  begin. 

I  have  often  thought  that  did  I  possess  but  an  atom 
of  the  genius  of  a  Kipling,  what  an  interesting  narrative 
might  I  write  of  the  passing  events  of  that  period.  It 
would  be  another  forceful  proof  of  the  trite  saying  that, 
"Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction".  Had  I  but  kept  a  diary 
of  each  day's  events  as  they  occurred,  from  the  first  time 
I  entered  the  great  West,  what  rich  food  it  would  be  to 
the  novelist,  and  how  strange  to  the  present  generation 
would  be  the  reading. 

If  you  wish  to  feel  yourself  more  comfortable  than  a 
king  while  listening  to  the  sweetest  strains  of  music, 
come  back  into  a  warm,  pleasant  home  with  its  comforts 
and  listen  to  the  crackle  of  a  cheerful,  open  wood  fire, 
after  being  out  in  cold  and  storm  for  a  month  or  two, 
never,  during  that  time,  being  near  a  house  or  comfortable 
habitation,  while  every  moment  being  in  terror  of  Indian 
attack,  or  suffering  from  cold  and  storm  really  more  ter- 
rible than  Indian  attack,  sitting  up  the  greater  part  of 


the  night  to  keep  from  freezing,  and  riding  hard  all  day 
on  the  morrow.  In  the  joy  of  the  change,  you  will  im- 
agine yourself  in  the  heaven  of  heavens.  How  many  of 
us  have  often  experienced  these  feelings  on  the  frontier 
of  Kansas  in  the  early  days.  Yet  this  kind  of  a  life  gives 
one  a  zest  for  adventure,  for  it  is  a  sort  of  adventure  to 
which  he  not  only  becomes  accustomed  but  attached.  In 
fact,  there  is  a  fascination  about  it  difficult  to  resist,  and, 
having  once  felt  its  power,  one  could  not  permit  himself 
to  give  it  up. 

In  writing  these  stories,  I  have  yielded  to  the  request 
of  my  friends,  principally,  for  the  reason  that  there  are 
but  few  men  left  who  saw  these  things,  and  I,  too,  will 
soon  pass  away.  But  before  I  go,  I  want  to  leave  behind 
a  feeble  description  of  the  greatest  game  country  on  earth, 
as  well  as  of  the  game  that  roamed  over  it,  and  of  its 
people,  and  various  phases  of  life. 

No  doubt,  many  readers  of  this  book  who  are  reared 
in  Christian  homes  under  proper  influences  and,  by  reason 
of  wholesome  teachings,  parental  care  and  guidance  and 
pure  environments,  will  naturally  conclude  that  Dodge 
City,  in  its  early  period,  did  not  offer  the  best  social 
climate  in  the  world. 

Dodge  City  has  been  quoted  all  over  the  United 
States  as  the  most  wicked  town  in  existence.  The  New 
York  papers  refer  to  it  as  such,  the  Washington  papers 
do  the  same — so  it  goes.  From  New  York  to  Washington, 
from  Washington  to  New  Orleans,  from  New  Orleans 
to  St.  Louis,  from  St.  Louis  to  Chicago,  and  from  there 
back  to  Kansas,  if  horrible  crime  is  committed,  they  say, 
"This  is  almost  as  bad,  as  wicked,  as  Dodge  City." 

But,  in  extenuation  of  the  conduct  of  her  early  in- 
habitants, I  plead  the  newness  of  the  territory,  the  condi- 
tions of  life,  the  dangers  and  associations  of  a  western 


frontier,  and  the  daring  and  reckless  spirit  that  such  con- 
ditions engender. 

I  also  insist  that  Dodge  City  was  not  the  worst  place 
on  earth  and  at  last  I  have  heard  of  a  town  which  was 
equal  to,  if  not  worse  than  Dodge  City,  and,  by  way  of 
comparison,  I  here  quote  a  graphic  picture  taken  from  the 
"Virginia  City  Chronicle,"  published  in  the  '70's,  of  an- 
other bad  town: 

"There  are  saloons  all  over  the  place,  and  whisky 
four  bits  a  drink.  They  put  two  barrels  upon  end,  nail  a 
board  across  for  a  bar  and  deal  out.  A  miner  who  wants 
to  treat  pours  some  gold  dust  on  the  barrel  head  and  says, 
"Set  'em  up!"  They  never  weigh  the  dust.  Sometimes  a 
man  won't  put  down  enough  dust,  but  they  never  say 
a  word,  and  if  he's  a  little  drunk  and  puts  up  ten  or  fif- 
teen dollars'  worth  they  never  mention  it.  They  have 
three  faro  banks  running  all  the  time.  They  don't  use 
checks,  for  the  boys,  when  they  won  a  pile  of  checks  they 
threw  them  all  over  the  place  and  some  of  them  were  too 
drunk  to  handle  them.  So  the  checks  got  played  out. 
Now  a  man  puts  a  little  gold  dust  on  a  dollar  greenback 
and  it  goes  for  two  dollars  worth  of  dust,  on  a  ten-dollar 
greenback  goes  for  twenty  dollars,  and  so  on — don't 
weigh  the  dust  at  all  but  guess  the  amount.  We  have  a 
daily  newspaper — that  is,  sometimes  it's  daily,  and  then 
when  the  compositors  get  drunk  it  doesn't  come  out  for 
several  days.  If  a  man  wants  gun  wadding  he  goes  and 
pays  four  bits  for  a  newspaper.  Whenever  they  start  a 
new  city  government  they  print  a  lot  of  city  ordinances, 
then  there's  a  grand  rush  for  the  paper.  Sometimes  it 
comes  out  twice  a  week  and  sometimes  twice  a  day.  Every 
man  in  Deadwood  carries  about  fourteen  pounds  of  fire- 
aritis  hitched  to  his  belt,  and  they  never  pass  any  words. 
The  fellow  that  gets  his  gun  out  first  is  the  best  man  and 


they  lug  off  the  other  fellow's  body.  Our  graveyard  is  a 
big  institution  and  a  growing  one.  Sometimes,  however, 
the  place  is  right  quiet.  Fve  known  times  when  a  man 
wasn't  killed  for  twenty-four  hours.  Then  again  they'd 
lay  out  five  or  six  a  day.  When  a  man  gets  too  handy 
with  his  shooting  irons  and  kills  five  or  six,  they  think 
he  isn't  safe,  and  somebody  pops  him  over  to  rid  the  place 
of  him.  They  don't  kill  him  for  what  he  has  done,  but 
for  what  he's  liable  to  do.  I  suppose  that  the  average 
deaths  amount  to  about  one  hundred  a  month." 


--8- 


Chapter  I.  . 

The  Country,  Time,  and  Cohdiiions 
that  Brought  About  0odgh  Gity,  - 

"PiODGE  CITY  is  situated  on  or  near  the  hundredth 
"*^  meridian.  It  is  just  three  hundred  miles  in  a  direct 
western  line  from  the  Missouri  river,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  south  from  the  Nebraska  line,  fifty  miles  north 
of  the  Oklahoma  line,  and  one  hundred  miles  from  Col- 
orado on  the  west.  As  the  state  is  just  four  hundred  miles 
long  and  two  hundred  wide,  it  follows  that  Dodge  City 
is  located  in  the  direct  center  of  the  southwestern  quarter, 
or  upon  the  exact  corner  of  the  southwestern  sixteenth 
portion  of  Kansas.  By  rail  it  is  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
three  miles  from  Kansas  City,  Missouri,  toward  the  west. 
Dodge  City  was  laid  out  in  July,  1872,  under  the  supervi- 
sion of  Mr.  A.  A.  Robinson,  chief  engineer  of  the  Atchi- 
son, Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railroad,  and,  for  many  years 
afterwards,  general  manager  of  that  road,  and  a  more 
pleasant  gentleman  I  never  met.  The  town  company 
consisted  of  Colonel  Richard  I.  Dodge,  commander  of 
the  post  at  Fort  Dodge,  and  several  of  the  officers  under 
him.  R.  M.  Wright  was  elected  president  of  the  town 
company,  and  Major  E.  B.  Kirk,  quartermaster  at  Fort 
Dodge,  was  made  secretary  and  treasurer.  Dodge  City 
was  located  five  miles  west  of  Fort  Dodge,  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  Arkansas  River.  The  Atchison,  Topeka  & 
Santa  Fe  Railroad  reached  Dodge  City  in  the  early  part 
of  September  the  same  year,  and  the  town  was  practically 
the  terminus  of  the  road  for  the  next  few  months,  when 
it  reached  out  to  Sargent,  on  the  state  line.  Meanwhile, 
what  a  tremendous  business  was  done  in  Dodge  City! 
For  months  and  months  there  was  no  time  when  one 
could  get  through  the  place  on  account  of  the  blocking 
of  the  streets  by  hundreds  of  wagons — ^freighters,  hunters 

—9— 


and  government  teams.  Almost  any  time  during  the 
day,  there  were  about  a  hundred  wagons  on  the  streets, 
and  dozens  and  dozens  of  camps  all  around  the  town,  in 
every  direction.-  Hay  was  worth  from  fifty  to  one  hun- 
dred dollars  per  -ton,  aiid  hard  to  get  at  any  price.  We 
were  entirely  *  without  law  or  order,  and  our  nearest 
point  of  justice  was  Hays  City,  ninety-five  miles  northeast 
of  Dodge  City.  Here  we  had  to  go  to  settle  our  differ- 
ences, but,  take  it  from  me,  most  of  those  differences 
were  settled  by  rifle  or  six-shooter  on  the  spot. 

Hays  City  was  also  the  point  from  which  the  west 
and  southwest  obtained  all  supplies  until  the  Atchison, 
Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railroad  reached  Dodge.  All  the 
freighters,  buffalo  hunters  and  wild  and  woolly  men  for 
hundreds  of  miles  gathered  there.  It  was  a  second  Dodge 
City,  on  a  smaller  scale.  Getting  drunk  and  riding  up 
and  down  the  sidewalks  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  go,  firing 
a  six-shooter  and  whooping  like  a  wild  Indian,  were 
favorite  pastimes,  exciting,  innocent  and  amusing.  At 
this  place  lived  a  witty  Irishman,  a  justice  of  the  peace, 
by  the  name  of  Joyce.  One  day,  near  Hays  City,  two  sec- 
tion-hands (both  Irish)  got  into  an  altercation.  One 
came  at  the  other  with  a  spike  hammer.  The  other  struck 
him  over  the  head  with  a  shovel,  fracturing  his  skull  and 
instantly  killing  him.  There  was  no  one  present.  The 
man  who  did  the  deed  came  in,  gave  himself  up,  told  a 
reasonable  story,  and  was  very  penitent.  Citizens  went 
out  and  investigated  and  concluded  it  was  in  self-defense. 
When  the  Irishman  was  put  on  trial.  Justice  Joyce  asked 
the  prisoner  the  usual  question,  "Are  you  guilty  or  not 
guilty  ?"  "Guilty,  your  honor,"  replied  the  prisoner.  "Shut 
up  your  darned  mouth,"  said  Joyce;  "I  discharge  you  for 
want  of  evidence."  Many  couples  did  Justice  Joyce  make 
man  and  wife,  and  several  did  he  divorce.  He  went  on 
the  principle  that  one  who  had  the  power  to  make  had 
also  the  power  to  unmake.  Many  acts  did  he  perform 
that,  although  not  legal,  were  witty,  and  so  many  snarls 

—10— 


were  made  in  consequence  that,  after  the  country  be- 
came civilized,  the  legislature  was  asked  for  relief,  and  a 
bill  was  passed  legalizing  Justice  Joyce's  acts. 

Such  is  a  sample  of  early  day  justice,  and  a  glance 
at  other  phases  of  life  on  the  plains,  in  early  days,  will 
make  clear  the  conditions  that  made  possible  a  town  like 
Dodge  City.  During  the  '50's  overland  travel  had  become 
established,  and  communication  between  the  Missouri 
River  and  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and  Denver,  Colorado, 
was  regularly  kept  up,  in  the  face  of  many  dangers  and 
difficulties.  I  made  my  first  overland  trip  with  oxen  in 
the  year  1859,  reaching  the  town  of  Denver  in  May.  Three 
times  after  that  I  crossed  the  plains  by  wagon  and  twice 
by  coach.  My  second  trip  was  made  in  war  times,  in  the 
spring  of  1863,  when  guerrilla  warfare  was  rife  in  Kansas. 
I  witnessed  some  evidences  of  the  guerrillas  in  the  work 
of  Jim  and  Bill  Anderson,  hard  characters  from  Missouri 
who,  at  the  commencement  of  the  war,  had  taken  to  the 
brush.  It  happened  like  this: 

Traveling  along  I  noticed  that  the  country  was  dotted 
with  bare  chimneys  and  blackened  ruins  of  houses  along 
the  old  Santa  Fe  trail,  from  a  few  miles  west  of  Westport 
to  Council  Grove.  The  day  we  reached  Council  Grove, 
two  men  rode  in  on  fine  horses  and,  dismounting,  one  of 
them  said:  "I  expect  you  know  who  we  are,  but  I  am 
suffering  the  torments  of  hell  from  the  toothache,  and  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  get  relief  we  will  not  disturb  your 
town;  but  if  we  are  molested,  I  have  a  body  of  men  near 
here  who  will  burn  your  town."  These  men,  I  learned 
afterwards,  were  Bill  Anderson  and  Up.  Hays.  A  friend 
by  the  name  of  Chatfield  with  his  family,  and  I  with  my 
family,  were  traveling  together.  We  drove  about  ten 
miles  from  Council  Grove  that  day,  and  camped  with  an 
ox  train  going  to  Santa  Fe.  Chatfield  and  I  had  a  very 
large  tent  between  us.  That  night,  about  midnight,  dur- 
ing a  heavy  rainstorm,  these  two  men  with  about  fifty 

others  rode  up  and  dismounted,  and  as  many  of  them 

—11— 


as  could  enter  our  tent  crowded  in  and  asked  for  water. 
We  happened  to  have  a  large  keg  full.  After  they  drank, 
they  saw  that  our  wives  as  well  as  ourselves  were  much 
frightened,  and  they  said:  "Ladies,  you  need  not  be  fright- 
ened; we  are  not  making  war  on  women  and  children, 
but  on  *blue  coats.'  "  When  we  reached  Diamond  Springs 
we  saw  what  their  purpose  was.  They  had  murdered  the 
people  and  burned  their  houses.  The  place,  indeed,  pre- 
sented a  look  of  desolation  and  destruction.  Not  a  living 
thing  could  be  seen  about  the  premises  and  we  were  too 
scared  to  make  an  investigation.  We  learned  afterward  it 
was  an  old  grudge  they  had  against  these  people. 

Various  government  posts  were  established  along  the 
trails  for  the  protection  of  travelers  and  settlers,  and  the 
quelling  of  numerous  Indian  outbreaks.  Fort  Aubrey, 
Bent's  Fort,  and  Fort  Atkinson,  were  among  the  earlier 
posts,  and  Fort  Larned,  Fort  Supply,  Fort  Lyon,  and 
Fort  Dodge  were  familiar  points  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
plains  before  the  establishment  of  Dodge  City.  Fort  Lyon 
was  in  eastern  Colorado,  and  was  first  established  in  i860, 
near  Bent's  Fort  on  the  Arkansas,  but  was  newly  located, 
in  1867,  at  a  point  twenty  miles  distant,  on  the  north  bank 
of  the  Arkansas,  two  and  one-half  miles  below  the  Pur- 
gatory River.  Fort  Larned  was  established  October  22, 
1859,  for  the  protection  of  the  Santa  Fe  trade,  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Pawnee  Fork,  about  seven  miles  above 
its  mouth.  Fort  Dodge  was  located  in  1864,  and  the  site 
for  its  location  was  selected  because  it  was  where  the  wet 
route  and  the  dry  route  intersected.  The  dry  route  came 
across  the  divide  from  Fort  Larned,  on  the  Pawnee,  while 
the  wet  route  came  around  by  the  river,  supposed  to  be 
about  fifteen  miles  further.  The  dry  route  was  often 
without  water  the  whole  distance,  and  trains  would  lay 
up  to  recruit  after  making  the  passage,  which  caused  this 
point  on  the  Arkansas  River  to  become  a  great  camping 
ground.  Of  course  the  Indians  found  this  out,  to  their 
delight,  and  made  it  one  of  their  haunts,  to  pounce  down 

—12— 


upon  the  unwary  emigrant' and  freighter.  Numerous  were 
their  attacks  in  this  vicinity,  and  many  were  their  victims. 
Men  were  butchered  in  the  most  horrible  manner,  stock 
was  killed,  and  women  taken  into  captivity  more  terrible 
than  death,  and  even  trains  of  wagons  were  burned.  Some 
of  the  diabolical  work  I  have  witnessed  with  my  own 
eyes,  and  will  speak  of  some  of  it  later. 

One  day  a  Mexican  Indian,  or  at  least  a  Mexican  who 
had  been  brought  up  by  the  Indians,  came  in  and  said 
his  train  had  been  attacked  at  the  mouth  of  Mulberry 
creek,  the  stock  run  off,  and  every  one  killed  but  him. 
This  was  the  first  outbreak  that  spring.  We  afterward 
learned  that  this  Mexican  had  been  taken  in  his  youth 
and  adopted  by  the  Indians,  and  had  participated  in  kill- 
ing his  brothers.  In  fact,  he  had  been  sent  to  the  train  to 
tell  them  that  the  Indians  were  friendly.  They  captured 
the  train  and  murdered  every  one  in  it,  without  giving 
them  the  ghost  of  a  show.  The  Mexican  was  then  sent 
to  Fort  Dodge  to  spy  and  find  out  what  was  going  on 
there,  because  he  could  speak  Spanish.  Major  Douglas 
sent  a  detachment  down,  and  true  enough  there  lay  the 
train  and  dead  Mexicans,  with  the  mules  and  harness 
gone.  The  wagons  were  afterward  burned.  The  train  had 
passed  over  the  old  Fort  Bascom  trail  from  New  Mexico, 
a  favorite  route,  as  it  was  much  shorter  than  the  Santa  Fe 
trail  and  avoided  the  mountains,  but  scarce  of  water  anc^ 
very  dangerous.  At  last  it  became  so  dangerous  that  if 
had  to  be  abandoned.  The  trail  which  came  into  the 
Arkansas  four  miles  west  of  the  town  of  Cimarron  had 
to  be  abandoned  for  the  same  reason. 

Many  attacks  were  made  along  the  route,  and  three 
trains  that  I  know  of  were  burned,  and  several  had  to  be 
abandoned  and  stock  driven  into  the  Arkansas  River  on 
account  of  the  scarcity  of  water.  The  route  was  called 
the  "Hornado  de  Muerti"  (the  journey  of  death;  very  sig- 
nificant was  its  name).  At  one  time  you  could  have  fol- 
lowed the  route,  even  if  the  wagon  trail  had  been  oblitef'- 

—13— 


ated,  by  the  bleaching  bones.  There  are  two  places  now 
in  Grant  or  Stevens  county,  on  the  Dry  Cimarron,  known 
as  Wagon  Bed  Springs  and  Barrel  Springs.  One  was 
named  because  the  thirsty  freighters  had  sunk  a  wagon- 
bed  in  the  quick-sand  to  get  water;  and  in  the  other 
place  because  they  had  sunk  a  barrel.  Sixty  miles  above 
where  this  route  came  into  the  Arkansas  there  was  an- 
other called  the  Aubrey  route,  which  was  less  dangerous 
because  less  subject  to  Indian  attacks,  and  water  was  more 
plentiful.  Colonel  F.  X.  Aubrey,  a  famous  freighter,  es- 
tablished this  route,  and  it  became  more  famous  on  ac- 
count of  a  large  wager  that  he  could  make  the  distance 
on  horseback,  from  Santa  Fe  to  Independence,  Missouri, 
in  eight  days.  He  won  the  wager,  and  had  several  hours 
to  spare.  Colonel  Aubrey  had  fresh  horses  stationed  with 
his  trains  at  different  places  along  the  whole  route.  He 
afterwards  made  his  famous  trip  down  through  the  wilds 
of  Arizona  and  California,  accompanied  by  a  single  In- 
dian, and  came  back  to  Santa  Fe,  after  a  six  months' 
journey,  with  marvelous  stories  of  the  rich  finds  he  had 
made.  He  had  the  proof  with  him  in  the  shape  of  quartz 
and  nuggets.  When  some  gentleman  questioned  his  ve- 
racity, immediately  a  duel  was  fought,  in  which  the  Col- 
onel was  killed.  No  money,  bribe,  threats  or  coaxing 
could  induce  that  Indian  to  go  back  and  show  where 
these  riches  lay.  He  said:  "No,  I  have  had  enough.  Noth- 
ing can  tempt  me  again  to  undergo  the  hardships  I  have 
endured  from  want  of  food  and  water  and  the  dangers 
I  have  escaped.  Death  at  once  would  be  preferable." 

A  few  miles  east  of  where  the  Aubrey  trail  comes 
into  the  Arkansas  is  what  is  known  as  the  "Gold  Banks." 
Old  wagon  bosses  have  told  me  that  along  in  the  early 
fifties  a  party  of  miners,  returning  from  California  richly 
laden,  was  attacked  by  Indians.  The  white  men  took  to 
the  bluffs  and  stood  them  off  for  several  days  and  made 
a  great  fight;  but  after  a  number  were  killed  and  the 
others  starved  out  for  water,  they  buried  their  treasure, 

—14— 


abandoned  their  pack  animals,  and  got  away  in  the  night, 
and  some  of  the  party  came  back  afterwards  and  recov- 
ered their  buried  riches.  Another  version  of  the  story 
says  that  they  were  all  killed  before  they  reached  the 
states.  At  any  rate,  long  years  ago  there  were  many 
searches  made,  and  great  excitement  was  always  going 
on  over  these  bluffs.  In  1859  I  saw  a  lot  of  California 
miners  prospecting  in  the  bluffs  and  along  the  dry 
branches  that  put  into  the  Arkansas;  and  I  was  told  they 
got  rich  color  in  several  places,  but  not  enough  to  pay. 
In  this  vicinity,  and  east  of  the  bluffs,  is  what  is  named 
Choteau's  Island,  named  after  the  great  Indian  trader  of 
St.  Louis,  the  father  of  all  the  Choteaus.  Here  he  made 
one  of  his  largest  camps  and  took  in  the  rich  furs,  not 
only  of  the  plains,  but  of  the  mountains  also. 

At  this  side  of  the  point  of  Rocks,  eight  miles  west 
of  Dodge  City,  used  to  be  the  remains  of  an  old  adobe 
fort.  Some  called  it  Fort  Mann,  others  Fort  Atkinson. 
Which  is  correct  I  do  not  know.  When  I  first  saw  it,  in 
May,  1859,  the  walls  were  very  distinct  and  were  in  a 
good  state  of  preservation,  excepting  the  roofs  gone.  There 
had  been  a  large  corral,  stables,  barracks  for  troops,  and 
a  row  of  buildings  which  I  supposed  were  officers'  quar- 
ters. Who  built  it,  or  what  troops  had  occupied  it,  I  do 
not  know.  There  were  many  legends  connected  with  old 
Fort  Mann.  Some  say  that  a  large  Mexican  train,  heavily 
loaded  with  Mexican  dollars,  took  shelter  there  from  the 
Indians,  and  finally  lost  all  their  cattle,  and  buried  their 
money  to  keep  it  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Indians,  and 
got  back  to  Mexico  as  best  they  could.  When  they  re- 
turned, the  river  had  washed  all  their  cache  away,  and 
it  was  never  recovered;  but  the  following  is  the  best  in- 
formation I  could  gather,  and  I  think  it  is  the  most 
plausible  story:  In  the  '50's,  and  a  long  while  before,  the 
government  did  its  own  freighting  with  ox  teams.  Many 
a  horn  have  I  seen  branded  "U.  S."   One  of  these  trains 

was  on  its  way  back  to  the  states,  loaded  with  ox  chains, 

—15— 


for  the  simple  reason  that  the  government  usually  sold 
its  wagons  after  they  had  delivered  their  loads  of  supplies, 
at  their  respective  destinations,  to  the  miners,  hunters, 
and  trappers,  and  turned  the  cattle  over  to  the  commis- 
sary for  beef.  This  would  naturally  leave  a  large  accumu- 
lation of  ox  chains.  Now,  this  train  loaded  with  chains 
met  the  heavy  snowstorm  in  or  near  Fort  Mann,  and 
they  cached  their  chains  at  the  fort,  and  went  in  with  a 
few  light  wagons,  and  the  river  washed  the  chains  away; 
for  the  banks  have  washed  in  several  hundred  feet  since 
I  have  known  the  place. 

There  was  some  inquiry  made  from  Washington 
about  Fort  Mann,  about  thirty  years  ago,  and  I  remember 
going  with  an  escort,  and,  on  the  sloping  hillside  north 
of  the  fort,  finding  three  or  four  graves.  Of  these,  one 
was  that  of  an  officer,  and  the  others  of  enlisted  men; 
also  two  lime-kilns  in  excellent  condition  and  a  well-de- 
fined road  leading  to  Sawlog.  In  fact,  the  road  was  as 
large  as  the  Santa  Fe  trail,  showing  that  they  must  have 
hauled  considerable  wood  over  it.  This  leads  me  to  be- 
lieve that  the  fort  had  been  occupied  by  a  large  garrison. 

Another  story,  and  a  strange  one,  of  very  early  times 
deals  with  the  ever  interesting  subject  of  buried  treasure, 
hinting  of  the  possibility  of  companies  being  organized 
to  dig  for  such  treasure,  supposed  to  have  been  concealed 
near  Dodge  City.  About  four  miles  west  of  Dodge,  per- 
haps many  of  our  readers  have  noticed  a  place  where  the 
earth  seems  to  have  been,  a  long  time  ago,  thrown  up 
into  piles,  holes  dug,  etc.,  indicating  that  some  body  of 
soldiers,  hunters,  or  freighters  had  made  breastworks  to 
defend  themselves  against  an  enemy.  We  have  often 
noticed  this  place  and  wondered  if  a  tale  of  carnage  could 
not  be  told,  if  those  mounds  only  had  mouths  and  voices 
to  speak.  But  we  leave  this  to  be  explained,  as  it  will  be, 
in  the  after  part  of  this  article,  and  will  proceed  to  tell  all 
we  have  learned  of  the  story,  just  as  it  was  told  in  the 
early  days  of  Dodge. 

—16— 


"In  the  year  of  1853,  when  this  country  was  as  wild 
as  the  plains  of  Africa,  only  traversed  at  intervals  by  tribes 
of  Indians  and  bands  of  Mexicans,  there  were  no  rail- 
roads running  west  of  St.  Louis,  and  all  the  freight  trans- 
mitted by  government  was  carried  over  this  country  by 
large  freighting  trains,  such  as  now  run  between  here  and 
Camp  Supply.  In  the  summer  of  that  year,  a  freighting 
train  consisting  of  eighty-two  men  with  one  hundred  and 
twenty  wagons  started  from  Mexico,  across  these  plains, 
for  Independence,  Missouri,  to  purchase  goods.  The 
whole  outfit  was  in  charge  of  an  old  Mexican  freighter 
named  Jesus  M.  Martinez,  whom  many  of  the  old  plains- 
men of  thirty  years  ago  will  remember.  They  traveled 
along  what  is  now  known  as  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail  and 
every  night  corralled  their  wagons  and  kept  guards  posted 
to  give  the  alarm  if  danger  should  approach  in  the  way 
of  Indians,  bandits  or  prairie  fires.  One  evening  they 
halted  about  sundown,  formed  the  usual  corral,  and  pre- 
pared to  rest  for  the  night.  Little  did  they  think  what 
that  night  had  in  store  for  them.  They  had  observed 
Indians  during  the  day,  but  the  sight  of  these  children 
of  the  plains  was  no  source  of  annoyance  to  them,  as 
they  had  never  been  troubled  and  had  seen  no  hostile 
manifestations.  Some  time  during  the  night  the  men 
who  were  on  watch  observed  objects  not  far  from  camp, 
the  dogs  commenced  making  a  fuss,  and  presently  the 
watchmen  became  suspicious  and  aroused  old  man  Mar- 
tinez. Martinez,  being  an  old  plainsman  and  under- 
standing the  tactics  of  the  Indians,  after  closely  observing 
through  the  darkness,  came  to  the  opinion  that  Indians 
were  lurking  around,  and  that  their  intentions  were  not 
good.  He  awoke  some  of  his  men  and  they  held  a  kind 
of  consultation  as  to  the  best  course  to  pursue,  and  finally 
decided  to  prepare  for  the  worst.  They  immediately 
commenced  digging  trenches  and  preparing  for  defense. 
The  objects  around  them  during  all  this  time  seemed  to 
grow  more  numerous  every  moment,  and  finally  could 

—17— 


be  seen  on  all  sides.  The  Mexicans  waited  in  suspense, 
having  intrenched  themselves  as  v^ell  as  possible  in  ditches 
and  behind  piles  of  dirt.  Finally,  v^ith  yells  and  shouts,  as 
is  alvi^ays  their  custom,  the  Indians  made  a  dash  upon  the 
camp  from  all  sides.  The  Mexicans  received  them  like 
true  martyrs,  and  being  v^^ell  fortified  had  every  advan- 
tage. Their  eighty-tw^o  guns  poured  fatal  balls  into  the 
yelling  enemy  at  every  report.  The  Indians  finally  fell 
back  and  the  Mexicans  then  hoped  for  deliverance,  but 
it  v^as  like  hoping  against  fate.  The  next  day  the  attack 
w^as  renew^ed  at  intervals,  and  at  each  attack  the  Mexicans 
fought  like  demons.  For  five  days  the  siege  continued, 
a  fev^  of  the  Mexicans  being  killed,  in  the  meantime,  and 
many  Indians.  During  the  time  the  Mexicans  had  scarce- 
ly slept,  but  what  struck  terror  to  their  hearts  was  the 
consciousness  that  their  ammunition  was  nearly  gone. 
On  the  sixth  night  the  Indians  made  a  more  desperate 
attack  than  before.  They  seemed  crazed  for  blood  and 
vengeance  for  the  chiefs  they  had  already  lost.  As  long 
as  their  ammunition  lasted  the  Mexicans  continued  their 
stern  resistance,  but  powder  and  lead  was  not  like  the 
widow's  oil.  It  steadily  decreased  until  none  was  left. 
Then  their  guns  were  still,  and  they  were  swallowed  up 
like  Pharaoh's  hosts  in  the  Red  Sea,  by  wild  Cheyennes, 
Arrapahoes  and  Kiowas,  who  made  deathly  havoc  with 
the  little  handful  of  brave  Mexicans.  We  need  not  dwell 
upon  this  scene  of  butchery,  and  it  is  only  necessary  to 
relate  that  but  one  man  is  known  to  have  escaped  in 
the  darkness,  and  that  man,  somewhat  strange  to  note, 
was  old  Jesus  M.  Martinez.  How  he  managed  to  secrete 
himself  we  can  hardly  divine,  others  might  have  been 
carried  away  and  held  captive  until  death,  but  he  alone 
never  told  the  story  to  the  pale-face.  The  Indians  pillaged 
the  train  of  all  the  flour,  bacon,  etc.,  took  the  stock,  set 
fire  to  some  of  the  wagons,  and  then,  Indianlike,  immedi- 
ately left  the  field  of  carnage.    Old  Martinez  remained  in 

his  hiding  place  until  morning  and  until  the  Indians 

—18— 


were  miles  away,  then  creeping  out  he  surveyed  the  re- 
mains of  what  a  few  days  ago  was  his  jolly,  jovial  com- 
panions. He  was  alone  with  the  dead. 

"As  is  nearly  always  the  case  with  persons  when  no 
eye  is  near,  he  thought  of  the  valuable,  and  knowing  that 
quite  an  amount  of  silver  was  stored  in  one  of  the  wagons, 
he  searched  and  found  a  portion  of  it.  As  near  as  he  re- 
membered, when  he  related  this  occurrence  to  his  son, 
he  founds  twenty-one  small  bags,  each  one  containing 
one  thousand  silver  Mexican  dollars.  These  bags  he  car- 
ried some  distance  from  the  camp,  we  cannot  learn  ex- 
actly how  far,  or  which  way,  and  buried  them.  He  then 
started  out  and  made  his  way  on  foot  back  to  his  old 
home  in  Mexico,  where,  it  seems,  he  died  soon  after- 
wards. But  before  he  died  he  told  his  son  what  we  have 
related  above,  and  advised  him  to  hunt  this  treasure. 
What  goes  to  corroborate  this  story  was  the  evidence  of 
Dr.  Wilber  of  Kansas  City,  who  sold  goods  to  these 
Mexicans  and  knew  of  their  having  a  considerable  quan- 
tity of  silver  in  their  possession. 

"Pursuant  to  his  father's  advice  young  Martinez 
came  up  to  this  country  some  years  after  the  death  of  his 
father  for  the  purpose  of  following  his  instructions.  There 
are  two  men  now  living  in  this  city  to  whom  he  revealed 
the  secret,  one  of  whom  assisted  him  in  searching  for  the 
buried  treasure.  From  the  directions  marked  out  by  old 
Martinez  they  found  the  spot  where  the  massacre  took 
place,  about  four  miles  west  of  Dodge  City — the  spot 
described  above,  where  the  pits  and  dirt  piles  are  still 
plainly  visible.  For  days  and  even  weeks  young  Martinez 
searched  the  ground  in  that  vicinity  using  a  sharpened 
wire,  which  he  drove  into  the  ground  wherever  he  sup- 
posed the  treasure  might  lie  concealed.  But  he  was  not 
successful,  and  not  being  of  a  persevering  nature  aban- 
doned the  search  and  remained  around  Fort  Dodge  for 
some  time,  when  he  fell  into  the  habit  and  became  a 
hard  drinker.  He  finally  returned  to  Mexico  and  has  not 

■—19— 


been  back  here  since,  that  we  are  aware  of.  After  he  left, 
one  of  the  men  to  whom  he  had  revealed  the  secret  (and 
this  man  now  lives  in  this  city)  made  a  partial  search  for 
the  treasure.  He  hired  men  and  after  swearing  them  to 
secrecy  as  to  what  they  were  searching  for,  set  them  to 
digging  ditches.  They  found  nothing  and  abandoned 
the  work." 

This  story,  as  told  above,  is  an  historical  fact,  and 
portions  of  it  have  been  heretofore  published.  We  can 
give  names  of  men  who  know  more  about  it  than  we  do 
but  by  request  we  do  not  publish  them.  This  treasure  will 
probably  be  found  some  day,  and  probably  will  lie  buried 
forever,  and  never  see  the  light.  No  eye  but  the  Omnip- 
otent's  can  tell  the  exact  spot  where  it  lies.  As  we  said 
above,  it  is  rumored  that  parties  are  preparing  to  institute 
a  search.  They  may  find  it  and  they  may  not.  We  hope 
they  will  as  it  is  of  no  benefit  to  mankind  where  it  is.  It 
certainly  exists. 

Such  were  some  of  the  traces  which  the  feet  of  the 
white  man  left  behind  in  their  first  passing  over  the 
plains  of  the  southwest.  One  almost  lost  sight  of  the 
natural  features  and  attractions  of  the  region,  in  viewing 
these  intensely  interesting  evidences  of  the  beginning  of 
the  conquest  of  the  wilds  by  civilization.  Yet  the  natural 
beauties  and  attractions  were  there  in  superlative  degree. 

An  old  darkey,  living  in  the  Arkansas  valley,  thus 
explains  how  it  happened  that  the  territory  of  Kansas 
exists.  On  being  asked  by  a  land  looker  what  he  thought 
of  the  country,  he  said: 

"Well,  sah,  when  the  good  Lord  made  dis  whole 
world.  He  found  out  that  He  had  made  a  mistake,  dat 
He  had  not  made  any  garden,  so  He  jest  went  to  work 
and  made  Hisself  a  garden,  and  we  call  it  Kansas." 

And  a  natural  garden,  indeed,  in  many  respects,  was 
the  Arkansas  valley  in  southwestern  Kansas.  Pages  could 
be  filled  with  descriptions  of  its  beauties  without  exhaust- 
ing the  subject.  But  no  less  than  the  charms  and  interest 

—20— 


of  its  physical  features,  were  the  charms  and  interest  of 
other  of  its  natural  attributes,  atmospheric  peculiarities, 
for  instance,  which,  as  in  the  blizzard,  arose  at  times  to 
the  height  of  the  grand  and  terrible.  Other  phases  of 
atmospheric  conditions,  however,  peculiar  to  the  great 
plains  in  pioneer  days,  were  very  beautiful,  and  perhaps 
the  best  example  of  such  was  the  mirage. 

Mirage,  Webster  describes  as  an  "optical  illusion, 
arising  from  an  unequal  refraction  in  the  lower  strata 
of  the  atmosphere,  and  causing  remote  objects  to  be  seen 
double,  as  if  reflected  in  a  mirror,  or  to  appear  as  if  sus- 
pended in  the  air.  It  is  frequently  seen  in  deserts,  pre- 
senting the  appearance  of  water." 

If  I  were  gifted  with  descriptive  powers,  what  won- 
derful scenes  could  I  relate  of  the  mirage  on  the  plains  of 
Kansas.  What  grand  cities  towering  to  the  skies  have  I 
seen,  with  their  palaces  and  cathedrals  and  domed 
churches,  with  tall  towers  and  spires  reaching  almost  up 
to  the  clouds,  with  the  rising  sun  glistening  upon  them 
until  they  looked  like  cities  of  gold,  their  streets  paved 
with  sapphire  and  emeralds,  and  all  surrounded  by  mag- 
nificent walls,  soldiers  marching,  with  burnished  spears 
and  armor!  There  would  arise  at  times  over  all  a  faint 
ethereal  golden  mist,  as  if  from  a  smooth  sea,  shining 
upon  the  towers  and  palaces  with  a  brilliancy  so  great 
as  to  dazzle  the  eyes — a  more  gorgeous  picture  than  could 
be  painted  by  any  artist  of  the  present,  or  by  any  of  the 
old  masters.  The  picture  as  has  presented  itself  to  me  I 
still  retain  in  good  recollection,  in  its  indescribable  mag- 
nificence. At  other  times  the  scenes  would  change  en- 
tirely, and,  instead  of  great  cities  there  would  be  moun- 
tains, rivers,  seas,  lakes,  and  ships,  or  soldiers  and  armies, 
engaged  in  actual  conflict.  So  real  have  such  sights  ap- 
peared to  me  on  the  plains  that  I  could  not  help  but  be- 
lieve they  were  scenes  from  real  life,  being  enacted  in 
some  other  part  of  the  world,  and  caught  up  by  the  rays 

of  the  sun  and  reflected  to  my  neighborhood,  or  perhaps 

—21— 


that  some  electrical  power  had  reproduced  the  exact  pic- 
ture for  me. 

How  many  poor  creatures  has  the  mirage  deceived 
by  its  images  of  water.  At  times  one  unacquainted  with 
its  varied  whims  would  be  persuaded  that  it  really  was 
water,  and  would  leave  the  well-beaten  track  to  follow 
this  optical  illusion,  only  to  wander  farther  from  water 
and  succor,  until  he  dropped  down  from  thirst  and  ex- 
haustion, never  to  rise  again,  never  again  to  be  heard  of 
by  his  friends,  his  bleaching  bones  to  be  picked  by  the 
coyote,  unburied  and  forgotten.  On  other  occasions  you 
would  see  immense  towering  forests,  with  every  variety 
of  trees  and  shrubbery.  In  some  places  it  would  be  so 
dark  and  lowering,  even  in  the  daylight,  as  to  appear 
dangerous,  though  one  could  not  help  admiring  its 
gloomy  grandeur.  Then  there  would  be  fair  spots  of  pic- 
turesque beauty,  with  grottoes  and  moonlit  avenues,  in- 
viting you  to  promenade,  where  one  seemed  to  hear  the 
stroke  of  the  barge's  oars  on  lake  and  river,  and  the  play 
of  the  fountains,  and  the  twitter  of  the  birds. 

With  the  trail  of  the  plow,  followed  by  immigration 
and  civilization,  the  wonderful  mirage  is  a  thing  of  the 
past.  It  is  only  now  and  then  that  one  gets  a  glimpse  of 
its  beauties;  its  scenes  of  magnificence,  far  beyond  any 
powers  of  description,  I  will  never  see  again. 


-22- 


Chapter  IL 

Travel  on  Old  Trails 

/^N  a  beautiful  spring  morning  in  early  May,  1859,  I 
^^  was  awakened  at  the  break  of  day — having  gone 
into  camp  the  preceding  evening  after  dusk — by  the 
singing  of  birds  and  lowing  of  cattle,  and  last,  but  not 
least,  the  harsh  and  discordant  voice  of  the  wagon  boss — 
of  whom  I  stood  in  wholesome  fear — calling,  "Roll  out! 
roll  out!"  to  the  men  as  the  cattle  were  driven  into  the 
corral  to  yoke  up  and  get  started.  Indeed  all  nature 
seemed  alive  and  pouring  out  the  sweetest  notes  on  that 
lovely  morning  when  I  first  saw  the  great  Pawnee  Rock. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  curious  freak  of  nature,  rising 
abruptly  out  of  &  fertile  stretch  of  bottom  land  several 
miles  wide,  three  or  four  miles  north  of  the  Arkansas 
River,  which  flowed  sluggishly  along  its  way,  its  muddy 
current  on  its  usual  spring  rise  caused  by  the  melting  of 
snow  in  the  mountains.  The  time  of  the  year,  the  ideal 
weather,  and  the  lovely  greensward,  interspersed  with 
the  most  beautiful  variegated  wild  flowers,  combined  to 
make  one  of  the  most  beautiful  sights  I  ever  witnessed. 
The  scene  impressed  itself  not  only  upon  me,  but  the 
other  drivers — "Bull  whackers,"  we  were  called — shared 
my  admiration,  and  through  our  united  petition  to  the 
wagon  boss,  the  train  was  halted  long  enough  to  allow 
our  going  to  the  Rock,  from  the  summit  of  which  I  ob- 
tained the  grand  view  that  so  impressed  me.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  could  never  tire  of  gazing  on  the  wonderful  pano- 
rama that  spread  before  me. 

The  road,  if  recollection  serves  me  right,  ran  only  a 
few  hundred  feet  south  of  the  base  of  the  Rock,  parallel 
to  its  face.  The  Rock  faced  the  south,  rearing  itself 
abruptly,  and  presenting  almost  a  perpendicular  front 
with  a  comparatively  smooth  surface,  having  thousands 

—23— 


of  names  inscribed  on  its  face,  and  also  on  a  great  many 
slabs  that  had,  in  the  process  of  time  and  exposure  to  the 
elements,  been  detached  from  its  top  and  sides  and  lay 
flat  at  its  base.  Most  of  the  names  were  those  of  "Forty- 
niners"  who  had  taken  that  route  in  their  mad  rush  for 
the  gold  fields  of  California  during  that  memorable  year. 
Among  the  names  cut  in  the  Rock  were  those  of  officers 
and  enlisted  men  in  the  United  States  army  as  well  as  a 
number  of  famous  men  and  frontiersmen. 

There  were  also  a  great  many  Indian  paintings,  or 
pictographs,  and  hieroglyphics  done  by  the  red  man — 
crude  and  laughable,  and  some  of  them  extraordinarily 
funny,  but  I  have  been  told  since  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  significance  attached  to  these  paintings,  some  of  them 
portraying  important  tribal  history,  others  representing 
brave  and  heroic  deeds,  performed  by  members  of  the 
tribes. 

Of  course,  there  were  a  great  many  stories  told  of 
the  Rock,  romances  the  most  of  them,  I  suppose. 

An  old  plainsman  and  mountaineer  told  me  that  the 
name  "Pawnee  Rock"  was  taken  from  a  great  fight  last- 
ing several  days,  between  the  Pawnees  and  their  life-long 
enemies,  the  Plains  Indians  composed  of  a  mixed  band 
of  Cheyennes,  Arapahoes,  Kiowas,  Comanches,  and  a 
few  Sioux,  all  pitted  against  the  Pawnees,  and  numbering 
more  than  ten  to  one.  What  a  desperate  battle  it  was! 

The  Pawnees  had  come  over  to  the  Arkansas  on  their 
usual  buffalo  hunt,  and,  incidentally,  to  steal  horses  from 
their  enemies,  the  Plains  Indians.  They  crossed  the  river 
and  proceeded  south,  penetrating  deep  into  the  enemy's 
country,  where  a  big  herd  of  ponies  grazed  and  lived  in 
supposed  security.  The  Pawnees  reached  the  herd  with- 
out arousing  the  least  suspicion  of  the  owners  that  the 
animals  were  in  danger.  Surrounding  and  cutting  out 
what  they  wanted,  they  started  on  the  return  trip,  greatly 
elated  over  their  easy  success,  and  reached  the  Arkansas 

River  without  meeting  with  the  slightest  resistance,  but 

—24— 


found  the  river  very  high  and  out  of  its  banks.  The  ponies 
refused  to  take  the  river,  v^hich  delayed  them  consider- 
ably. In  the  meantime,  the  band  of  Indians,  composed 
of  Cheyennes,  Arapahoes,  Kiowas,  Comanches,  and  a 
fev^  Sioux,  v^as  on  a  buffalo  hunt,  too,  v^hen  some  of 
them  discovered  the  trail  of  the  Pav^nees  and  quickly 
notified  the  others.  They  all  gave  chase,  overtaking  the 
Pawnees  just  as  they  v^ere  crossing  the  Arkansas.  The 
Pav^nees  might  still  have  gotten  av^ay  had  they  aban- 
doned the  stolen  horses;  but  this  they  refused  to  do  until 
it  v^as  too  late. 

Finally,  pressed  on  all  sides  by  overwhelming  odds, 
they  were  glad  to  retreat  to  the  rock  where  they  made  a 
final  stand,  fortifying  themselves  as  best  they  could  by 
erecting  mounds  of  loose  rock,  and  loading  and  firing 
from  behind  this  crude  shelter  with  such  daring  and 
bravery  that  their  enemies  were  kept  at  bay.  They  were 
sorely  in  need  of  water.  Of  meat  they  had  plenty,  as 
they  lived  upon  the  flesh  of  their  dead  horses.  At  night, 
some  of  them  usually  crept  through  the  line  of  sentinels 
that  guarded  them  and  made  their  way  to  the  river,  fill- 
ing canteens  of  tanned  hide  or  skins  and  working  their 
way  back  to  their  beseiged  friends. 

The  fight  was  kept  up  for  three  days  and  nights,  the 
Cheyennes  and  allies  making  frequent  charges  during  the 
day,  but  always  being  compelled  to  fall  back  with  severe 
loss,  until  they  had  almost  annihilated  the  little  band  of 
Pawnees.  On  the  fourth  night  they  were  reduced  to  three 
or  four  men.  Knowing  their  desperate  situation  and 
realizing  that  there  was  no  chance  for  any  of  them  to 
escape,  they  determined  to  sell  their  lives  as  dearly  as 
possible.  Every  man  stripped  stark  naked,  and,  watching 
his  opportunity,  when  the  guards  were  less  vigilant  than 
usual,  crept  stealthily  toward  the  foes.  Having  approach- 
ed as  near  as  they  could  without  detection,  the  Pawnees 
burst  upon  the  enemy  with  all  the  fury  of  desperate  men 
going  to  their   death,  and,   with  blood-curdling  yells, 

—25— 


fought  as  never  men  fought  before.  One  of  them  was 
armed  with  a  long  spear  and  knife  only.  (These  spears 
were  used  in  killing  buffaloes.)  Many  a  man  went  down 
before  the  weapon,  but,  finally  the  Pawnee  drove  it  so 
deeply  into  one  of  his  victims  that  he  could  not  withdraw 
it.  Then  he  fell  back  on  his  butcher  knife  and  made  ter- 
rible havoc  with  it,  until  overpowered  by  numbers,  he 
died  a  warrior's  glorious  death,  reeking  with  the  blood 
of  his  enemies.  He  certainly  had  sufficient  revenge. 

The  time  we  camped  at  the  foot  of  the  Rock  we  did 
not  go  into  camp  until  after  nightfall.  Another  man  and 
I  were  placed  on  first  guard  around  the  grazing  cattle. 
After  being  out  some  time,  we  were  startled  by  something 
dropping,  zip!  zip!  into  the  grass  around  us  and  near 
us.  We  thought  it  was  Indians  shooting  at  us  with  arrows. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  rumors  of  attacks  from  Indians, 
and  this  certainly  was  a  great  Indian  camping  ground 
and  country,  so  we  were  greatly  alarmed  and  continually 
on  the  lookout,  expecting  at  any  time  to  be  attacked. 
We  finally  concluded  to  go  to  camp  and  notify  the 
wagon  boss.  He  came  back  with  us  and  for  a  long  time 
believed  that  Indians  were  shooting  at  us,  but  the  ques- 
tion was,  where  were  they  concealed?  The  mystery  was 
finally  solved.  The  peculiar  sound  was  made  by  the  little 
birds  called  sky-larks,  flying  up  and  alighting,  striking 
the  earth  with  such  force  that  the  noise  seemed  like  that 
produced  by  the  fall  of  an  arrow  or  of  a  stone.  The  sky- 
larks and  meadow  larks  sang  at  all  hours  of  the  night 
on  the  plains. 

The  great  Pawnee  Rock  has  found  its  way  into  the 
history  of  the  west.  Around  its  rugged  base  was  many 
a  desperate  battle  fought  and  won;  and  many  a  mystic 
rite,  performed  within  its  shadow,  has  stamped  upon  the 
grand  old  mass  the  wierd  and  tragic  nature  of  the  chil- 
dren of  the  plains. 

It  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  rock  that  I 
—26— 


inadvertently  started  one  of  the  most  disastrous  stampedes 
in  the  history  of  the  plains. 

In  the  fall  of  1862  I  was  going  back  east  with  one  of 
Major  Russell's  and  Waddell's  large  ox  teams.  I  think  we 
had  thirty  or  forty  wagons,  with  six  yoke  of  oxen  to  the 
wagon.  Our  wagons  were  strung  Ryg  or  six  together  and 
one  team  of  six  yoke  cattle  attached  to  each  string.  It  was 
the  latter  part  of  November,  and  we  were  traveling  along 
the  Arkansas  River  bottom  about  ten  miles  west  of  where 
Great  Bend  is  now  located.  It  was  a  very  hot  afternoon, 
more  like  summer  than  winter — one  of  those  warm 
spells  that  we  frequently  have  in  the  late  fall  on  the 
plains.  I  was  driving  the  cavayado  (cave-yard — that  is, 
the  loose  cattle).  The  Mexicans  always  drove  their  cava- 
yado in  front  of  their  trains,  while  the  Americans^,  in- 
variably drove  theirs  behind.  I  had  on  a  heavy  linsey 
woolsey  coat,  manufactured  from  the  loom  in  Missouri 
lined  with  yellow  stuff,  and  the  sleeves  lined  with  red; 
and,  as  I  said,  it  was  very  warm;  so  I  pulled  off  my  jack- 
et, or  coat,  and  in  pulling  it  off  turned  it  inside  out.  We 
had  an  old  ox  named  Dan,  a  big,  old  fellow  with  rather 
large  horns,  and  so  gentle  we  used  him  as  a  horse  in 
crossing  streams,  when  the  boys  often  mounted  him  and 
rode  across.  Dan  was  always  lagging  behind,  and  this 
day  more  than  usual,  on  account  of  the  heat.  The  idea 
struck  me  to  make  him  carry  the  coat.  I  caught  him  and 
by  dint  of  a  little  stretching  placed  the  sleeves  over  his 
horns  and  let  the  coat  flap  down  in  front. 

I  hardly  realized  what  I  had  done  until  I  took  a  front 
view  of  him.  He  presented  a  ludicrous  appearance,  with 
his  great  horns  covered  with  red  and  the  yellow  coat 
flapping  down  over  his  face.  He  trudged  along  uncon- 
scious of  the  appearance  he  presented.  I  hurried  him 
along  by  repeated  punches  with  my  carajo  pole,  for  in 
dressing  him  up  he  had  gotten  behind.  I  could  not  but 
laugh  at  the  ludicrous  sight,  but  my  laughter  was  soon 
turned  to  regret,  for  no  sooner  did  old  Dan  make  his  ap- 

—27— 


pearance  among  the  other  cattle  than  a  young  steer  bawled 
out  in  the  steer  language,  as  plain  as  good  English,  "Great 
Scott!  what  monstrosity  is  this  coming  among  us  to  de- 
stroy us?"  and  with  one  long,  loud,  beseeching  bawl, 
put  all  the  distance  possible  between  himself  and  the 
terror  behind  him.  All  his  brothers  followed  his  example, 
each  one  seeing  how  much  louder  he  could  bawl  than  his 
neighbor,  and  each  one  trying  to  outrun  the  rest.  I 
thought  to  myself,  "Great  guns!  what  have  I  done  now!" 
I  quickly  and  quietly  stepped  up  to  old  Dan,  fearing  that 
he  too  might  get  away,  and  with  the  evidence  of  my  guilt, 
took  from  his  horns  and  head  what  had  created  one  of 
the  greatest  stampedes  ever  seen  on  the  plains,  and  placed 
it  on  my  back  where  it  belonged.  In  the  meantime  the 
loose  cattle  had  caught  up  with  the  wagons,  and  those 
attached  to  the  vehicles  took  fright  and  tried  to  keep  up 
with  the  cavayado.  In  spite  of  all  the  drivers  could  do, 
they  lost  control  of  them,  and  away  they  went,  making  a 
thundering  noise.  One  could  see  nothing  but  a  big  cloud 
of  dust.  The  ground  seemed  to  tremble. 

Nothing  was  left  but  Dan  and  me  after  the  dust  sub- 
sided, and  I  poked  him  along  with  my  carajo  pole  as  fast 
as  possible,  for  I  was  anxious  to  find  out  what  damage  was 
done.  We  traveled  miles  and  miles,  and  it  seemed  hours 
and  hours,  at  last  espying  the  wagon  boss  still  riding  like 
mad.  When  he  came  up  he  said:  "What  caused  the  stam- 
pede of  the  cavayado?"  I  replied  that  I  could  not  tell, 
unless  it  was  a  wolf  that  ran  across  the  road  in  front  of 
the  cattle,  when  they  took  fright  and  away  they  went,  all 
except  old  Dan,  and  I  held  him,  thinking  I  would  save 
all  I  could  out  of  the  wreck.  There  stood  old  Dan,  a 
mute  witness  to  my  lies.  Indeed,  I  thought  at  times  he 
gave  me  a  sly  wink,  as  much  as  to  say:  "You  lie  out  of 
it  well,  but  I  am  ashamed  of  you."  I  thought  that  God 
was  merciful  in  not  giving  this  dumb  animal  speech,  for 
if  He  had  they  certainly  would  have  hung  me.  As  it  was, 
the  wagon  boss  remarked:  "I  know  it  was  the  cussed 

—28— 


wolves,  because  I  saw  several  this  afternoon,  while  riding 
in  front  of  the  train.  Well,"  he  continued,  "that  wolf 
didn't  do  a  thing  but  wreck  six  or  eight  wagons  in  Wal- 
nut creek,  and  from  there  on  for  the  next  five  miles,  ten 
or  twelve  more;  and  most  of  them  will  never  see  the 
states  again,  they  are  so  completely  broken  up.  Besides, 
one  man's  leg  is  broken  and  another's  arm,  and  a  lot  of 
the  men  are  bruised  up.  Three  steers  have  their  legs 
broken,  and  the  front  cattle  were  fifteen  miles  from 
where  we  are  now,  when  I  overtook  them." 

I  have  seen  many  stampedes  since,  but  never  anything 
to  equal  that.  I  have  seen  a  great  train  of  wagons  heavily 
loaded,  struggling  along,  drivers  pounding  and  swearing 
to  get  the  cattle  out  of  a  snail's  pace,  and  one  would 
think  the  train  too  heavily  loaded,  it  seemed  such  a  strain 
on  the  cattle  to  draw  it,  when  a  runaway  horse  or  some- 
thing out  of  the  usual  would  come  up  suddenly  behind 
them,  and  the  frightened  cattle  in  the  yoke  would  set 
up  a  bawl  and  start  to  run,  and  they  would  pick  up 
those  heavily  loaded  wagons  and  set  off  with  them  at 
a  pace  that  was  astonishing,  running  for  miles  and  over- 
turning the  wagons.  The  boss  in  front,  where  he  was  al- 
ways supposed  to  be,  would  give  the  order  to  roughlock 
both  wheels,  which  would  probably  be  done  to  a  few  of 
the  front  wagons.  Even  these  doubly  locked  wagons 
would  be  hurled  along  for  a  mile  or  two  before  the  cattle's 
strength  was  exhausted,  and  apparently  the  whole  earth 
would  shake  in  their  vicinity. 

My  experience  with  old  Dan  and  the  yellow-lined 
coat  was  laughable,  with  but  a  touch  of  the  tragic  at  its 
close,  but  all  the  travel  along  the  Santa  Fe  trail  and  large 
part  of  it  was  tragedy  from  beginning  to  end,  kindred 
highways,  in  those  old  days,  had  not  so  happy  a  tone,  and 
much  of  it  had  a  much  more  tragic  ending — unlight- 
ened  by  any  touch  of  humor.  Indeed,  had  all  the  blood 
of  man  and  beast,  that  was  shed  beside  them,  been  turned, 
unlessened,  into  the  trails,  their  course  across  the  plains 

—29— 


would  have  been  marked  in  unbroken  crimson,  from 
Westport  to  Santa  Fe,  and  from  Leavenworth  to  Denver. 
Moreover,  the  tragedy  was  greater  than  will  ever  be 
known,  for  mute  evidences  of  mysterious  bloodshed  were 
not  wanting  along  the  old  trails.  Many  times,  in  the  early 
days  of  Fort  Dodge,  I  have  picked  up  little  bunches  of 
cattle  wandering  on  the  plains  aimlessly  that  had  been  run 
off  by  the  Indians,  as  well  as  horses  and  mules,  and  turned 
them  over  to  some  Mexican  train  from  which  they  had 
been  stampeded.  Once  I  found  a  buggy  all  smashed  to 
pieces  in  the  timbered  breaks  of  Duck  Creek,  but  we 
could  never  discover  whom  the  unfortunate  occupants  had 
been.  They  had  been  killed  and  dumped  out,  no  doubt, 
miles  from  where  the  vehicle  was  wrecked.  One  day  I 
found  one  of  the  most  beautiful  horses  I  ever  saw,  with  a 
fine  saddle  on  his  back.  The  saddle  was  completely  satu- 
rated with  blood. 

In  1863,  the  fall  before  Fort  Dodge  was  established,  on 
the  bluffs  where  you  first  get  a  sight  of  the  Arkansas  on 
the  dry  route  from  Fort  Larned,  a  little  Mexican  train 
of  ten  or  twelve  wagons  loaded  with  corn,  groceries  and 
other  goods,  many  sacks  of  flour,  together  with  a  feather- 
bed or  two,  camped  one  day  to  get  dinner.  Soon  after 
they  had  corralled  a  band  of  Indians  rode  up,  with  their 
customary,  "How-how,  heap  Hungry,"  and  wanted  some 
"chuck-a-way."  After  gorging  themselves,  they  sat 
around  the  small  fire  of  buffalo  chips  smoking,  they 
arose,  shook  hands  all  around,  mounted  their  ponies,  and, 
as  they  arrived  at  the  rear  of  the  corral,  suddenly  turned 
and  killed  every  one  of  the  Mexicans,  excepting  the  day 
herder,  who  had  started  off  in  advance  to  his  animals 
that  were  quietly  grazing  in  the  grassy  bottoms.  The 
moment  he  heard  the  firing  he  lit  out  mighty  lively  for 
Fort  Lyon,  closely  followed  by  the  red  devils,  but  he 
managed  to  escape;  the  only  one  left  to  tell  the  horrid 
tale. 

We  camped  with  the  mail  en  route  several  times  that 
—30— 


winter,  and  fed  our  mules  on  corn,  and  ourselves  ate  of 
the  canned  goods  that  were  scattered  all  over  the  trail. 
It  was  certainly  a  curious  spectacle,  and  could  be  seen  for 
quite  a  distance,  where  the  savages  had  cut  open  feather 
beds  and  scattered  their  contents  around,  which  had 
caught  in  the  weeds  and  grass  of  the  prairie.  They  also 
emptied  many  sacks  of  flour  to  get  the  sacks  for  breech- 
clouts.  In  nearly  the  same  spot,  and  in  the  vicinity,  have 
I  many  times  helped  bury  the  mutilated  and  scalped  re- 
mains of  men  who  had  been  ruthlessly  murdered  there  by 
the  Indians. 

For  many  years,  and  several  years  before  Dodge  City 
was  started.  Barlow,  Sanderson  &  Company  ran  a  tri- 
weekly stage  line  through  Fort  Dodge,  over  the  old  Santa 
Fe  trail.  They  used  a  large  Concord  coach,  containing 
three  inside  seats,  capable  of  holding  nine  persons  com- 
fortably. Then  there  was  a  driver's  box  where  three  more 
could  be  comfortably  seated,  besides  an  upper  deck  where 
more  passengers  and  baggage  could  be  stowed  away;  and 
also  what  was  called  a  front  and  hind  boot,  where  still 
more  trunks  and  baggage  could  be  carried,  with  a  large 
feather  apron  strapped  down  over  them,  to  hold  things 
in  place  and  keep  out  the  weather.  There  were  five  mules 
attached  to  the  coach,  two  mules  on  the  wheel  and  three 
on  the  lead,  and  relays  were  provided  from  thirty  to  fifty 
miles  apart,  except  from  Fort  Larned  to  Fort  Lyon  which 
were  two  hundred  and  forty  miles  apart.  In  addition  to 
the  stage,  a  light  wagon  was  taken  along  to  carry  grub 
and  bedding.  It  was  seven  hundred  miles  from  Kansas 
City  to  Santa  Fe,  and  the  coach  made  it  in  seven  days. 

One  time,  before  Fort  Dodge  was  established,  we  had 

to  abandon  a  big  Concord  coach,  at  the  foot  of  Nine-mile 

Ridge,  on  account  of  the  muddy  condition  of  the  trail, 

and  went  on  to  the  stage  station  with  a  light  spring 

wagon.    On  the  way  we  met  a  band  of  friendly  Indians 

who  were  going  to  Fort  Larned,  and  we  told  them  to  haul 

the  coach  in.  Of  course  they  didn't  follow  the  trail,  but 

—31— 


struck  across  the  country  on  to  Pawnee  Fork.  After  a 
long  time  had  elapsed,  Little  Raven,  the  chief,  rode  into 
the  fort  and  told  us  he  had  left  the  coach  twenty  miles 
up  the  creek,  and  blessed  if  he  could  get  it  any  farther, 
as  he  had  pulled  the  tails  out  of  nearly  every  one  of 
his  herd  of  ponies  to  get  it  that  far.  You  see  their  methods 
of  hauling  the  coach  was  by  tying  it  to  the  tails  of  their 
ponies. 

The  summer  of  1866, 1  was  closing  up  my  business  at 
Fort  Aubrey,  preparatory  to  moving  to  Fort  Dodge,  where 
I  had  a  contract  to  fill  for  wood,  with  the  army  quarter- 
master at  that  post.  For  a  few  years  previous  to  this,  I 
had  been  ranching  at  the  abandoned  government  post  of 
Fort  Aubrey  (which  I  had  strongly  fortified  against  the 
Indians),  and  erecting  stage  stations  every  thirty-five  or 
forty  miles,  wherever  a  suitable  location  could  be  found, 
about  that  distance  apart,  for  the  overland  stage  line  of 
Barlow,  Sanderson  &  Company.  This  line  started  from 
Kansas  City,  Missouri,  but  branched  off  at  Bent's  old  fort, 
the  main  line  going  to  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and  the 
branch  to  Denver,  Colorado.  After  crossing  the  Arkansas 
river,  the  former  wended  its  way  southwest,  over  the  Ra- 
ton mountains,  while  the  branch,  following  up  the  Ar- 
kansas to  Pueblo,  and  from  thence,  the  Fountain  Gulch 
to  Colorado  Springs,  crossed  over  the  divide  to  Denver. 

I  was  also  furnishing  these  small  stations  with  hay, 
cut  in  the  river  bottoms  near  each  station,  and  I  kept  a 
small  mule  train  constantly  on  the  road,  hauling  grain 
from  the  Missouri  river  (we  simply  called  it  "the  River" 
those  days,  every  one  knowing,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that 
we  meant  the  Missouri)  to  keep  the  stations  supplied  with 
feed  for  the  stage  stock.  This  is  the  way  we  built  these 
stations.  We  first  hunted  a  steep  bank  facing  the  south 
and  the  river — as  the  Arkansas  ran  east  and  west — and 
dug  straight  into  this  bank  a  suitable  distance,  wide 
enough  to  suit  our  convenience,  and  ten  or  twelve  feet 
deep  at  the  deepest  place,  with  a  gradual  slope  to  the  south 

—32— 


of  seven  or  eight  feet.  Now  this  formed  three  sides  of  an 
excavation,  you  understand,  and  only  left  the  south  open- 
ing exposed.  This  we  built  up  with  sod  or  adobes.  The 
top  we  covered  with  poles  laid  across,  and  on  the  poles 
we  placed  hay,  covering  the  whole  business  with  dirt,  and 
sloping  it  down  with  the  natural  fall  of  the  ground. 

I  had  hard  work  to  get  men  to  keep  these  stations,  as 
it  was  dangerous  as  well  as  lonely  work.  Indians  were  bad 
— ^not  in  regular  open  warfare,  but  occasionally  murder- 
ing small  parties,  and  we  had  to  keep  constantly  on  the 
lookout  for  them.  One  of  the  stations  about  twenty-five 
miles  west  of  Aubrey,  was  called  Pretty  Encampment. 
After  much  persuasion,  I  got  a  Dutchman  by  the  name  of 
Fred  to  keep  this  station.  Fred  was  a  big  burly  devil, 
strong  as  an  ox,  but  a  big  coward.  He  continually  sent 
me  word,  by  drivers,  that  he  was  going  to  quit,  and,  in 
consequence  I  had  to  ride  up  twenty-five  miles  every  few 
days,  to  brag  on  him  and  encourage  him  to  stay.  Well, 
the  Indians  had  lately  been  committing  little  devilments, 
and  one  morning  I  met  Fred,  a  half-mile  from  the  sta- 
tion, a  horrible  looking  sight,  blood  all  over  him,  his  dirty 
shirt  bloody  and  torn,  and  a  big,  sharp  butcher-knife  in 
his  hand.  He  was  terribly  excited  and  almost  raving,  go- 
ing on  at  a  terrible  rate,  in  broken  English  and  Dutch, 
flourishing  his  bloody  knife  and  saying,  "G — d — ^him, 
the  son  of  a  b — ;  I  killed  him — I  cut  his  throat  and  his 
guts  out!"  I  was  sure  he  had  killed  an  Indian.  I  said, 
"Fred,  you  have  raised  the  devil.  This  will  bring  on  an 
Indian  war.  Don't  you  know  it  is  against  orders  from 
headquarters  and  the  commander  of  the  fort  to  kill  an 
Indian  or  shoot  at  him  first,  under  any  circumstances? 
(And  so  it  was,  a  standing  order).  Let's  go  see  about  it." 

We  went  up,  and  the  house  looked  like  a  tornado  had 
struck  it.  The  roof  was  torn  partly  off,  the  room  covered 
with  blood,  the  bed  broken  down,  the  old  furniture 
smashed,  and  everything  in  disorder,  while  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  lay  a  big  dead  bull  buffalo.  You  see,  there  was 

—33— 


some  hay  sticking  up  from  the  covering  of  the  roof,  and 
some  time  before  day,  an  old  bull  had  crept  down  on  this 
roof  after  the  hay,  and  had  broken  through,  one  foot  first. 
It  struck  Fred,  who  was  soundly  sleeping,  and  with  the 
noise  and  dirt  falling  upon  him,  suddenly  awakened  him. 
He  grabbed  the  foot  and  leg,  feeling  the  hair  on  it,  it 
scared  him  to  death,  and  being  a  powerful  man,  he  held 
on  to  the  leg  and  foot,  like  grim  death  to  a  nigger's  heel, 
thinking  the  devil  had  got  him.  Then  they  fought  and 
struggled  in  the  dark,  until,  at  last,  the  buffalo  fell 
through,  and  still  Fred  did  not  know  what  it  was.  But 
his  butcher-knife  was  under  his  pillow,  and  he  grabbed 
it  and  went  to  cutting  and  slashing. 

Whenever  I  thought  of  it  afterwards,  I  had  to  laugh 
at  his  actions  and  looks  when  he  met  me.  But  I  could  get 
him  to  stay  at  Pretty  Encampment  no  longer,  and  well  he 
did  not,  for  less  than  a  week  afterwards,  two  drivers  of 
teams  I  had  just  sold,  for  the  purpose  of  hauling  supplies 
to  these  ranches,  were  killed  within  two  miles  of  this 
ranch,  and  the  mules  and  harness  stolen.  Fortunately, 
Fred  had  not  yet  been  replaced  with  another  stock  tender 
or  he  would  have  been  killed. 

Not  among  the  least  of  the  hardships  and  dangers 
incident  to  the  early  pioneer  of  the  southwest  was  the 
"Kansas  blizzard;"  like  all  the  storms  in  the  arid  belt,  a 
great  majority  of  them  were  local,  but  nevertheless  severe 
and  terrible  in  their  destructive  fury.  A  blizzard  is  de- 
fined as  "a  fierce  storm  of  bitter,  frosty  wind,  with  fine, 
blistering  snow."  No  definition,  however  save  that  of  ac- 
tual experience,  can  define  its  terrible  reality.  I  have  wit- 
nessed a  change  in  temperature  from  seventy-four  degrees 
above  zero  to  twenty  degrees  below  in  twenty-four  hours, 
and  during  this  time  the  wind  was  blowing  a  gale,  ap- 
parently from  the  four  points  of  the  compass.  The  air 
was  so  full  of  the  fine,  blistering  snow  and  sand  that  one 
could  not  see  ten  feet  in  advance.  Turn  either  way,  and 
it  is  always  in  front.  The  air  is  full  of  subdued  noises,  like 

—34— 


the  wail  of  lost  spirits;  so  all-absorbing  in  its  intensity  is 
this  wailing,  moaning,  continuous  noise,  that  one's  voice 
cannot  be  heard  two  yards  away.  The  historical  blizzards 
of  1863,  1866,  1873  and  1888,  were  general  embracing  a 
very  large  area  of  country.  The  early  pioneers  were,  of 
necessity,  nomadic,  and  were  in  no  way  prepared  for  these 
sudden  changes ;  and  hundreds  have  lost  their  lives  by  suf- 
focating in  blizzards  when  the  temperature  was  not  zero, 
it  being  a  physical  impossibility  to  breathe,  the  air  being  so 
full  of  fine,  blistering  snow  and  sand. 

The  spirit  of  the  blizzard,  as  the  background  to  pic- 
tures of  the  wild  west,  in  early  days,  is  well  brought  out 
in  Eugene  Ware's  vivid  little  poem,  "The  Blizzard." 

"The  fiddler  was  improvising;  at  times,  he  would  cease 

to  play. 
Then,  shutting  his  eyes,  he  sang  and  sang,  in  a  wild 

ecstatic  way; 
Then,  ceasing  his  song,  he  whipped  and  whipped  the 

strings  with  his  frantic  bow, 
Releasing  impatient  music,  alternately  loud  and  low; 
Then,  writhing  and  reeling,  he  sang  as  if  he  were  dream- 
ing aloud. 
And  wrapping  the  frenzied  music  around  him  like  a 

shroud; 
And  this  is  the  strange  refrain,  which  he  sang  in  a  minor 

key, 
'No  matter  how  long  the  river,  the  river  will  reach  the 

sea.* 

"It  was  midnight  on  the  Cimarron,  not  many  a  year  ago; 
The  blizzard  was  whirling  pebbles  and  sand,  and  billows 

of  frozen  snow: 
He  sat  on  a  bale  of  harness,  in  a  dugout  roofed  with  clay; 
The  wolves  overhead  bewailed,  in  a  dismal,  protracted 

way; 
They  peeped  down  the  'dobe  chimney,  and  quarreled  and 

sniffed  and  clawed; 

—35— 


But  the  fiddler  kept  on  with  his  music,  as  the  blizzard 

stalked  abroad; 
And,  time  and  again,  that  strange  refrain  came  forth  in 

a  minor  key, 
*No  matter  how  long  the  river,  the  river  will  reach  the 

sea.' 

"Around  him,  on  boxes  and  barrels,  uncharmed  by  the 

fiddler's  tune. 
The  herders  were  drinking  and  betting  their  cartridges 

on  vantoon; 
And,  once  in  awhile,  a  player,  in  spirit  of  reckless  fun. 
Would  join  in  the  fiddler's  music,  and  fire  off  the  fiddler's 

gun. 
An  old  man  sat  on  a  sack  of  corn  and  stared  with  a  vacant 

gaze; 
He  had  lost  his  hopes  in  the  Gypsum  Hills,  and  he  thought 

of  the  olden  days. 
The  tears  fell  fast  when  the  strange  refrain  came  forth 

in  a  minor  key, 
*No  matter  how  long  the  river,  the  river  will  reach  the 

sea.' 

"At  morning  the  tempest  ended,  and  the  sun  came  back 

once  more; 
The  old,  old  man  of  the  Gypsum  Hills  had  gone  to  the 

smoky  shore; 
They  chopped  him  a  grave  in  the  frozen  ground  where 

the  Morning  sunlight  fell; 
With  a  restful  look  he  held  in  his  hand  an  invisible 

asphodel; 
They  filled  up  the  grave,  and  each  herder  said,  *Good-by 

till  the  judgment  day.' 
But  the  fiddler  stayed,  and  he  sang  and  played,  as  the 

herders  walked  away — 
A  requim  in  a  lonesome  land,  in  a  mournful  minor  key — 
*No  matter  how  long  the  river,  the  river  will  reach  the 

sea." 

r-36— 


As  an  illustration  of  the  terrible  nature  of  a  Kansas 
blizzard  in  early  times,  another  poem  may  be  quoted, 
which  describes  a  real  experience,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Dodge  City,  by  some  cowboys  on  the  trail.  This  poem 
is  written  by  Henry  C.  Fellow,  the  cowboy  poet  of  Okla- 
homa, and  is  used  in  this  work  by  special  permission  of 
the  author. 

PASSING  OF  THE  WRANGLER 

"Wrangle  up  yer  broncks.  Bill, 

Let  us  hit  the  trail; 
Cinch  'em  up  a  knot  er  two. 

Tore  there  comes  a  gale. 

"Fill  the  wagon  full  o'  chuck. 

Tore  we  cut  adrift; 
Fer  we'll  have  a  time.  Bill 

With  this  winter  shift. 

"My  bones  they  feel  a  blizzard 

A  hatchin'  in  the  west. 
An'  I  must  load  my  gizzard 

With  some  pizen-piker's  best. 

"Sam,  git  yer  chips  together. 

An'  stack  'em  in  a  box; 
An'  gether  up  the  tether. 

Ropes,  shirts,  an'  dirty  socks, 

"An'  lash  'em  to  the  cayuse. 

An'  strap  'em  tight  an'  strong; 
Fer  we  given  to  ha'f  t'  ride,  Sam, 

Kase  'tseems  they's  sumthing'  wrong. 

"Pards,  see  the  clouds  a  shiftin'; 

They's  given  to  turn  a  trick, 
An'  make  us  go  a  driftin', 

Afore  we  reach  the  crick. 
—37— 


"It's  a  hundred  miles,  ye  know,  boys, 

To  reach  the  O  X  camp. 
An'  we'll  ha'f  to  keep  a  rollin' 

Er  we'll  ketch  a  frosty  cramp. 

"So  skin  the  mules  a  plenty. 
With  yer  double  triggered  crack; 

An'  keep  the  broncks  a  goin', 
Jist  so  ye  know  the  track." 

So  with  a  whoop  an'  holler. 
The  rounders,  full  o'  pluck, 

An'  tanked  up  to  the  collar — 
With  their  wagon  load  o'  chuck, 

They  left  the  Dodge  behind  'em. 
An'  started  fer  the  South, 

With  the  wind  a  blowin' 
A  peck  o'  dirt  a  mouth. 

They  skase  could  see  the  other 
Feller,  lopin'  through  the  cloud; 

Er  hear  nothin'  but  the  thunder. 
An'  the  flappin'  o'  their  shroud. 

Tumble  weeds  a  rollin'. 

With  a  forty  minit  clip, 
An'  the  clouds  a  pilin' 

Up  like  a  phantom  ship. 

With  'er  double  triggered  action, 
The  wind  she  turned  her  tail. 

An'  kicked  out  all  the  suction 
Fer  the  souther's  gale. 

She  started  into  rainin'. 

An'  follered  with  a  sleet; 

An'  kept  'er  speed  a  gainin', 

A  throwin'  down  'er  sheet; 
—38— 


Till  everything  wuz  covered, 

A  frozen  glare  o'  ice; 
Yet  still  she  closter  hovered, 

An'  pinched  us  like  a  vise. 

That  blizzard  came  a  peltin' 

With  'er  frozen  shot; 
An'  sich  snov^^  a  driftin', 

I  never  have  forgot! 

We  couldn't  see  a  nothin', 
Ner  hear  a  rounder  croak; 

But  the  gurgle  o'  the  pizen 
A  puttin'  us  to  soak. 

We  kept  the  broncks  a  movin' 
Frum  bein'  froze  to  death; 

While  w^aitin'  fer  the  mornin' 
To  thav^  us  w^ith  his  breath. 

But  v^hen  the  snow^y  mornin' 
Had  come  in  v^ith  his  smile, 

He'd  left  a  ghastly  vi^arnin' 
Fer  many  and  many  a  mile. 

A  thousand  head  of  cattle, 
Caught  driftin'  w^ith  the  storm. 

Were  frozen,  v^hile  a  millin', 
A  tryin'  to  keep  w^arm. 

Poor  Sammy,  v^ith  the  w^agon, 

Wuz  found  a  mile  alone; 

Wuz  stuck  adrift,  an'  frozen. 

An'  harder 'n  a  stone. 

—39— 


or  Bill,  he  froze  his  fingers, 

An'  blistered  up  his  face, 
Tryin'  to  pitch  his  ringers. 

An'  a  fightin'  fer  the  ace. 

I  fell  into  a  canyon, 

With  my  cayuse  an'  my  traps, 
An'  shuffled  fer  the  joker. 

With  the  cinchin'  straps. 

I  warmed  myself  a  plenty 

A  keepin'  up  the  fight, 
A  skinnin'  ol'  McGinty, 

Till  a  comin'  of  the  light. 

Poor  Sam!  he  boozed  a  plenty. 

To  stack  'im  in  a  heap; 
An'  the  devil  swiped  his  ante. 

When  he  went  to  sleep. 

So  Bill  an'  me  together, 

Stood  in  silence  by  the  wag- 
On,  not  a  knowin'  whether 
To  swig  another  jag, 

'Er  cut  the  cussed  pizen 

That  had  foggled  up  our  breath, 
An'  kept  our  spirits  risin', 

Without  a  fling  o'  death. 

So  me  an'  Bill,  we  tackled 

The  job  without  a  drop. 
An'  in  the  hill  we  hackled 

A  grave  with  icy  top. 

An'  shuffled  Sammy  in  it. 

An'  banked  'im  in  with  snow. 

An'  'rected  up  a  monument. 

To  let  the  Nesters  know 
—40— 


We  had  done  our  solemn  dooty, 
An'  planted  'im  in  style, 

With  the  whitest  snow  o'  heaven 
Heaped  on  'im  in  a  pile* 

Poor  Bill!  he  sniffed  a  little 
When  I  lifted  up  my  hat, 

An'  let  some  weepin'  splatter 
On  Sammy's  frozen  mat. 

Sam  wan't  no  idle  rustler; 

No  one  could  ride  the  range 
Better 'n  he,  ner  brand  'em, 

Ner  dip  'em  fer  the  mange. 

His  check  book  showed  a  balance, 
Fer  a  wrangler  o'  the  stuff, 

Fer  a  hilpin'  of  his  mither 
No  one  could  spake  enough. 

His  heart  wuz  where  God  put  it; 

His  blood  was  always  red; 
His  mouth  he  alluz  shut  it. 

When  troubles  wuz  ahead. 

An'  if  the  storm  wuz  ragin'. 

He  rode  the  line  alone. 
An'  never  once  a  stagin' 

Some  other's  stunt  his  own. 

Fer  his  larnin'  he  wuz  known, 

Figgered  with  the  letter  X; 

Never  had  to  once  be  shown; 

Wuz  no  mangy  maverick. 
—41— 


Set  an'  count  a  herd  o'  stars, 

Driftin'  frum  the  hand  o'  God; 
Tell  us  all  about  the  flowers 

Playin'  bo-peep  in  the  sod. 

Hope  the  jedge  will  let  'im  thru, 

When  he  rounds  up  at  the  gate; 
But,  ol'  pard,  I'm  fear  in',  though, 

Sam'll  be  a  little  late. 

Peace  be  then  to  Sammy's  ashes. 

Till  the  round  up  o'  the  race. 
When  each  wrangler's  check  book  cashes 

What  it's  worth,  an'  at  its  face. 

Speaking  of  blizzards,  makes  me  think  of  John  Riney 
who  was  one  of  the  very  first  citizens  to  settle  in  Dodge 
City.  He  helped  build  the  Santa  Fe  road  into  Dodge, 
and  was  also  the  first  tollgate  keeper  for  the  only  bridge 
over  the  Arkansas  for  miles  each  way;  which  position 
he  held  for  many  years  and  was  always  found  strictly 
honest  in  his  receipts.  Before  this  he  was  a  freighter  and 
froze  both  of  his  feet  in  our  big  blizzard  of  1873,  which 
crippled  him  for  life.  He  now,  (1913),  resides  peacefully 
on  his  big  alfalfa  farm,  a  short  distance  west  of  Dodge, 
and  has  raised  a  large  family,  all  of  whom  are  much  re- 
spected citizens  of  Dodge  City. 

As  a  closing  word  in  this  brief  discussion  of  the  bliz- 
zard in  pioneer  days,  I  will  narrate  one  of  the  many  expe- 
riences I  have  had  with  them.  In  the  summer  and  fall  of 
1872  I  was  freighting  supplies  from  Fort  Dodge  to  Camp 
Supply,  I.T.  Up  to  the  middle  of  December  we  had  had 
no  cold  weather — plenty  of  grass  all  along  the  route.  I 
loaded  some  twenty-mule  wagons  with  corn,  along  about 
the  twentieth  of  December,  and  the  outfit  crossed  the  river 
at  Fort  Dodge,  and  went  into  camp  that  night  at  Five- 
mile  Hollow,  about  five  miles  from  Fort  Dodge.    It  had 

—42— 


been  a  warm,  pleasant  day,  and  the  sun  disappeared  in  a 
clear  sky.  Along  in  the  night  the  wind  whipped  around 
in  the  north,  and  a  blizzard  set  in.  By  morning  the 
draw  that  they  were  camped  in  was  full  of  snow,  and  the 
air  so  full  that  one  could  not  see  from  one  wagon  to  the 
other.  The  men  with  the  outfit  were  all  old  experienced 
plainsmen,  but  the  suddenness  and  severity  of  the  storm 
rendered  them  almost  helpless.  They  had  brought  along 
only  wood  enough  for  breakfast,  and  that  was  soon  ex- 
hausted. They  then  tried  burning  corn,  but  with  poor 
success.  As  a  last  resort  they  began  burning  the  wagons. 
They  used  economy  in  their  fire,  but  the  second  day  saw 
no  prospect  of  a  letting  up  of  the  storm,  in  fact,  it  was 
getting  worse  hourly.  It  was  then  that  P.  G.  Cook,  now 
living  at  Trinidad,  and  another  whose  name  escapes  me, 
volunteered  to  make  an  effort  to  reach  Fort  Dodge,  only 
five  miles  distant,  for  succor.  They  bundled  up  in  a  way 
that  it  seemed  impossible  for  them  to  suffer,  and,  each 
mounting  a  mule,  started  for  the  fort.  The  first  few  hours, 
Cook  has  told  me,  they  guided  the  mules,  and  then  recog- 
nizing that  they  were  lost,  they  gave  the  animals  a  loose 
rein  and  trusted  to  their  instinct.  This  was  very  hard 
for  them  to  do,  as  they  were  almost  convinced  that  they 
were  going  wrong  all  the  time,  but  they  soon,  got  so 
numbed  with  the  cold  that  they  lost  their  sense  of  being. 
They  reached  the  fort  in  this  condition  after  being  out 
eight  hours.  They  each  had  to  be  thawed  out  of  their 
saddles.  Cook,  being  a  very  strong,  vigorous  man,  had 
suffered  the  least,  and  soon  was  in  a  condition  to  tell  of 
the  troubles  of  his  comrades.  Major  E.  B.  Kink,  the 
quartermaster  at  the  fort,  immediately  detailed  a  relief 
party,  and,  with  Cook  at  their  head,  started  for  the  camp. 
The  storm  by  this  time  had  spent  itself,  and  the  relief 
party,  with  an  ample  supply  of  wood,  reached  them  with- 
out great  hardship,  and  the  entire  outfit,  minus  the  three 

wagons  which  had  been  burned  for  fuel,  were  brought 

—43— 


back  to  the  fort.  Cook's  companion  was  so  badly  frost- 
bitten that  amputation  of  one  of  his  Hmbs  was  necessary 
to  save  his  life. 

In  the  winter  of  1869  I  made  a  contract  with  the  set- 
tlers at  Camp  Supply  to  freight  a  trainload  of  goods  from 
Dodge  to  that  point.  I  hurriedly  caught  up  my  cattle, 
and  picked  up  what  drivers  I  could  find.  So  little  time 
had  I  to  prepare,  and  so  scarce  were  hands,  that  I  was 
glad  to  get  anyone  that  could  handle  a  whip.  Of  course 
I  had  a  motley  crew — some  good  men  and  a  few  very 
worthless.  Among  the  latter  was  one  Jack  Cobbin.  Now 
Jack  had  been  a  scout  during  the  war,  down  around  Fort 
Gibson  and  Fort  Smith,  and  was  as  great  a  drunkard  as 
ever  drank  from  a  bottle.  The  first  night  out  we  camped 
at  Mulberry,  about  fifteen  miles  from  Dodge.  A  little 
snow  had  fallen,  and  the  night  herders  lost  about  half 
the  cattle.  Of  course  the  cattle  drifted  back  to  Dodge. 
Next  morning  I  sent  my  extra  hand  and  night  herder 
back  on  the  only  two  horses  I  had,  and  pulled  one  wing 
of  the  train  ten  miles  on  the  divide  half  way  between 
Mulberry  and  Rattlesnake  creek,  and  went  back  and 
pulled  the  other  wing  up  about  nightfall.  That  night 
these  catde  got  away,  but  I  found  them  next  day  and 
drove  them  over  on  a  little  spring  creek  three  miles  from 
the  main  road,  where  there  was  plenty  of  water,  grass 
and  shelter,  and  placed  a  guard  with  them. 

I  will  here  have  to  anticipate  a  bit.  I  was  loaded  with 
several  wagons  of  liquor.  Jack  Cobbin  had  been  drunk 
ever  since  we  had  left  Dodge,  and  I  had  broken  every 
pipe-stem,  quill  or  straw  I  could  find,  as  this  was  the  only 
means  he  could  use  to  get  the  liquor  out  of  the  barrels, 
after  drilling  a  hole  in  the  top,  so  I  concluded  that  I 
would  take  him  along  that  night  to  relieve  the  guard 
and  keep  him  sober.  About  two  hours  before  sundown 
he  and  I  started  out  to  the  cattle.  The  Indians  were  at 
war  and  killing  everybody;  so  I  supplied  each  man  with 
a  dozen  rounds  of  cartridges,  in  case  of  a  sudden  attack, 

—44— 


to  be  used  until  our  ammunition  could  be  got  out  of  the 
mess  wagon,  with  strict  orders  not  to  fire  a  gun,  under 
any  circumstances,  unless  at  an  Indian.  Well,  we  had 
gone  about  two  miles  in  the  direction  of  the  cattle  when 
Jack  began  to  lag  behind,  and  pretty  soon  a  jackrabbit 
jumped  up  and  Cobbin  blazed  away  at  it.  I  went  back 
to  chide  him,  when  I  found  he  had  something  slushing 
in  the  coffee  pot  he  was  carrying  with  his  blankets.  I 
asked  him  what  it  was,  and  he  said  water.  I  said:  "Throw 
it  out;  you  are  a  bright  one  to  carry  water  to  a  creek." 
He  said:  "Maybe  we  won't  find  any  creek."  I  told  him 
that  if  we  did  not  find  the  creek  we  would  not  find  the 
cattle.  So  he  went  on  with  the  coffee  pot  slushing,  slush- 
ing, and  I  cursing  him,  and  ordering  him  to  throw  it  out. 
At  last  we  reached  the  creek  and  relieved  the  other  boys. 
I  went  at  once  to  round  up  the  cattle. 

When  I  got  back  it  was  late  and  very  dark  and  the 
fire  nearly  out.  Jack  was  sound  asleep.  I  built  up  a  big 
fire  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  it.  After  sitting  some  time  I 
awakened  Jack,  but  he  refused  to  go  out  to  the  cattle.  I 
felt  very  uneasy  and  went  again  myself.  I  found  that  the 
cattle  had  stopped  grazing  and  wanted  to  ramble.  I 
stayed  with  them  several  hours,  until  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  hold  them  alone,  and  then  went  back  after 
Jack,  but  found  him  too  drunk  to  be  of  any  assistance. 
Then  I  found  out  what  was  in  the  coffee  pot.  It  was 
whisky  which  he  had  drawn  with  his  mouth  out  of  the 
barrels  and  spit  into  the  coffee  pot.  I  kicked  the  pot  over, 
which  very  much  enraged  him  and  he  tried  to  kill  me, 
but  I  was  too  quick  for  him  and  disarmed  him.  I  went 
back  to  the  cattle,  and  after  awhile  got  them  quiet  and 
they  lay  down.  I  then  went  back  and  rebuilt  the  fire. 
When  I  had  my  back  turned  to  get  some  more  wood  the 
devil  threw  a  handful  of  big  cartridges  on  the  fire.  Part 
of  them  exploded  almost  in  my  face,  and  the  creek  being 
situated  in  a  little  canyon  with  high  rocky  walls  on  each 
side,  it  sounded  like  heavy  cannonading.  I  was  frightened, 

—45— 


for  I  thought  if  there  were  Indians  in  five  miles  they 
would  certainly  hear  this  and  pounce  down  upon  us  next 
day.  I  did  not  feel  like  killing  Jack  when  he  tried  to 
shoot  me  for  kicking  his  pot  of  whisky  over,  but  I  was 
sorely  tempted  then.  I  said  to  him:  "My  hearty,  I  won't 
kill  you  now,  but  I  will  surely  get  even  with  you." 

Next  morning  we  drove  in  by  daylight  and  strung 
out  one  wing  of  wagons  for  Rattlesnake  creek.  When 
they  were  about  three  miles  away,  Major  Dimond  came 
along,  in  command  of  several  companies  of  the  Nineteenth 
Kansas  Cavalry  and  asked  for  whisky.  I  said:  "You  are 
too  late;  yonder  go  the  wagons  containing  all  the  whisky. 
I  sent  them  off  on  purpose  to  keep  my  friend  Jack  Cob- 
bin  sober," pointing  to  Jack,  who  replied;  "Major  Dimond, 
how  are  you?  I  was  your  old  scout  at  Fort  Gibson.  If 
you  will  loan  me  your  horse  and  canteen  I  will  get  you 
some  whisky."  Nearly  a  dozen  of  the  officers  unstrung 
their  canteens  and  handed  them  to  Jack,  and  the  column 
was  halted  until  his  return,  and  he  came  back  with  every 
canteen  loaded.  Each  officer  took  a  hearty  pull  and 
asked  me  to  join  them,  but  I  said  I  never  drank  when  I 
was  out  in  the  cold.  I  thought,  "Where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

We  drew  up  the  other  wing  that  afternoon  in  a  nice 
little  sheltered,  heavily  wooded  grove,  under  the  bank  of 
the  creek,  where  the  cook  had  stretched  wagon-sheets  and 
prepared  a  nice  dinner,  in  the  midst  of  a  terrible  snow- 
storm. The  lost  cattle  arrived  at  the  same  time  we  did; 
so  I  put  Cobbin  on  one  of  the  horses  and  sent  him  out 
on  day  herd,  while  we  sat  down  to  dinner.  Along  in  the 
afternoon  I  sent  a  man  to  relieve  him.  One  of  the  men 
saw  him  coming  and  dropped  a  couple  of  cartridges  in  the 
fire  just  where  he  thought  Jack  would  hover  over  to 
warm,  and  sure  enough  he  hardly  spread  his  hands  to 
the  cheering  fire  when  one  cartridge  went  off  and  as  he 

turned,  the  other  gave  him  a  parting  salute.    That  night 

—46— 


just  as  supper  was  ready,  Jack  retaliated  by  throwing  an- 
other handful  of  cartridges  into  the  fire,  and  blew  our 
supper  all  to  f lingers.  We  held  a  council  of  war,  and  a 
majority  decided  to  kill  him.  The  extra  hand  and  cook 
swore  they  would.  The  extra  said  he  would  take  it  upon 
himself  to  do  the  shooting,  but  I  finally  persuaded  them 
out  of  the  notion. 

That  night  it  cleared  off,  and  we  pulled  over  to  Bluff 
creek,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Jesus,  only  a  few  miles  away. 
I  again  put  Cobbin  on  night  herd.  The  clouds  had  rolled 
away  and  the  new  moon  was  shining  brightly.  The  air 
was  balmy  and  springlike.  My  extra  hand  and  I  were 
sitting  up,  smoking  and  enjoying  the  fine  night,  with 
a  nice  fire  on  the  side  of  the  bank,  and  the  creek  below 
us,  when  we  heard  a  disturbance  at  one  of  the  whisky 
wagons.  The  extra  hand  went  to  see  about  it,  and  brought 
in  Cobbin,  pretty  full,  as  usual.  I  upbraided  him  for  not 
being  with  the  cattle,  but  to  no  use,  and  finally  he  lay 
down  in  front  of  the  fire  on  the  bank  above  and  went  to 
sleep.  The  extra  said:  "Now  is  the  time."  Jack  wore  a 
long,  blue,  homespun  coat,  which  reached  nearly  to  his 
heels,  with  pockets  as  far  down  as  the  coat,  in  which  he 
kept  his  cartridges.  We  gently  pulled  the  tails  out  from 
under  him  and  built  a  fire  of  dry  cottonwood  chips  on 
top  of  his  cartridges,  and  placed  a  big  wet  rag  above  this,  so 
that  the  fire  would  be  cut  off  from  the  balance  of  his 
clothing.  In  course  of  time  the  chips  were  live  coals,  and 
then  the  cartridges  began  to  explode  and  awaken  him.  He 
rolled  from  the  top  of  the  bank  right  through  that  fire 
and  plumb  into  the  creek.  Scrambling  out,  he  said,  "I 
reckon  I  laid  most  too  close  to  the  fire."  The  extra  hand 
told  him,  "He  reckoned  he  did,"  and  what  was  more, 
"if  he  ever  caught  him  at  those  barrels  again  he  would 
kill  him;"  and  the  extra  being  a  very  determined  man. 
Jack  knew  he  would.  We  had  no  more  trouble  with  him 
on  the  trip. 

—47— 


Chapter  III. 

Ranching  in  Early  Days 

T^HE  ranches  in  those  days  were  few  and  far  between. 
^  •*•  Beyond  the  Grove  were  Peacock's  ranch,  at  Cow 
Creek,  Alison's  ranch,  at  Walnut  Creek,  and  also  that  of 
William  Greiffenstein,  with  whom  I  afterward  had  the 
pleasure  to  serve  in  the  house  of  representatives.  The  fol- 
lowing is  a  true  story  of  the  fate  of  Peacock,  as  related  to 
me  a  few  years  after  his  death.  Peacock  kept  a  whiskey 
ranch  on  Cow  Creek.  He  and  Satank,  the  great  war  chief 
of  the  Kiowas,  were  great  friends  and  chums,  as  Peacock 
knew  the  sign  language  well.  He  had  quite  a  large  ranch 
and  traded  with  the  Indians,  and,  of  course,  supplied 
them  with  whisky.  In  consequence,  the  soldiers  were  al- 
ways after  him.  Satank  wgs  his  confidential  friend  and 
lookout.  He  had  to  cache  his  whisky  and  hide  it  in  every 
conceivable  manner,  so  that  the  troops  would  not  find  it. 
In  fact,  he  dreaded  the  incursions  of  the  soldiers  much 
more  than  he  did  the  Indians.  One  day  Satank  said  to 
him:  "Peacock,  write  me  a  nice  letter  that  I  can  show  to 
the  wagon  bosses  and  get  all  the  chuck  I  want.  Tell  them 
I  am  the  great  war  chief  of  the  Kiowas,  and  ask  them  to 
give  me  the  very  best  in  the  shop." 

Peacock  said,  "All  right,  Satank,"  and  sat  down  and 
penned  this  epistle:  "This  is  Satank,  the  biggest  liar,  beg- 
gar, and  thief  on  the  plains.  What  he  can't  beg  of  you 
he  will  steal.  Kick  him  out  of  your  camp,  as  he  is  a  lazy, 
good-for-nothing  Indian." 

Satank  presented  his  letter  several  times  to  passing 
trains,  and,  of  course,  got  a  very  cool  reception,  or  rather 
a  warm  one.  One  wagon  boss  blacksnaked  him,  after 
which  indignity  he  sought  a  friend,  and  said  to  him: 
"Look  here!  Peacock  promised  to  write  me  a  good  letter, 
but  I  don't  understand  it.   Every  time  I  present  it  the 

—48-^ 


V  < 


wagon  boss  gives  me  the  devil.  Read  it,  and  tell  me  just 
what  it  says."  His  friend  did  so,  interpreting  it  literally. 
"All  right,"  said  Satank,  and  the  next  morning  at  daylight 
he  took  some  of  his  braves  and  rode  to  Peacock's  ranch. 
He  called  to  Peacock,  "Get  up;  the  soldiers  are  coming." 
The  summons  was  quickly  obeyed.  Seizing  his  field-glass. 
Peacock  ran  to  the  top  of  his  lookout,  and  the  instant  he 
appeared,  Satank  shot  him  full  of  holes,  exclaiming  as 
he  did  so,  "Good-by,  Mr.  Peacock;  I  guess  you  won't 
write  any  more  letters." 

Then  they  went  into  the  building  and  killed  every 
man  present,  except  one,  a  sick  individual,  who  was  lying 
in  one  of  the  rooms,  gored  through  the  leg  by  a  buffalo. 
All  that  saved  him  was  that  the  Indians  were  very  super- 
stitious about  entering  apartments  where  sick  men  lay, 
for  fear  they  might  have  the  smallpox,  which  disease  they 
dreaded  more  than  any  other. 

I  came  from  the  mountains  in  the  spring  of  1864  to 
Spring  Bottom,  on  the  Arkansas  River.  The  Cheyennes, 
Arapahoes  and  Kiowas  were  committing  many  depreda- 
tions along  the  Arkansas  that  summer. 

Shortly  after  our  arrival,  my  partner,  Joe  Graham, 
went  to  Fort  Lyon  after  supplies  to  stand  a  siege,  as  we 
expected  daily  to  be  attacked,  the  hired  man  and  myself 
remaining  at  the  ranch  to  complete  our  fortifications.  On 
the  night  of  Graham's  return  I  started  for  Point  of  Rocks, 
a  famous  place  on  the  Arkansas,  twenty  miles  below  our 
ranch,  to  take  a  mule  which  he  had  borrowed  to  help  him 
home  with  his  load. 

The  next  morning  at  daylight  our  ranch  was  attacked 
by  about  three  hundred  Indians,  but  the  boys  were  sup- 
plied with  arms  and  ammunition,  and  prepared  to  stand 
a  siege.  After  they  had  killed  one  Indian  and  wounded 
a  number  of  their  ponies,  the  savages  became  more  care- 
ful; they  tried  by  every  means  in  their  power  to  draw 
the  boys  outside;  they  even  rode  up  with  a  white  flag 
and  wanted  to  talk.   Then  they  commenced  to  tell  in 

—49— 


Spanish,  broken  English,  and  signs,  that  they  did  not 
want  to  hurt  the  boys;  they  simply  wanted  the  United 
States  mail  stock;  and  if  it  was  given  up  they  would  go 
away.  When  this  modest  demand  was  refused,  they  re- 
newed their  attack  with  greater  fury  than  ever  before. 

My  wife  and  two  children  were  with  me  at  the  ranch 
at  the  time,  and,  at  the  commencement  of  the  fight,  Mrs. 
Wright  placed  the  little  ones  on  the  floor  and  covered 
them  over  with  feather  beds;  then  she  loaded  the  guns 
as  fast  as  the  boys  emptied  them.  She  also  knocked  the 
chinking  from  between  the  logs  of  the  building,  and  kept 
a  sharp  lookout  on  the  movements  of  the  Indians.  Often 
did  she  detect  them  crawling  up  from  the  opposite  side 
to  that  on  which  the  boys  were  firing.  Upon  this  informa- 
tion the  boys  would  rush  over  to  where  she  had  seen 
them,  and  by  a  few  well-directed  shots  make  them  more 
than  glad  to  crawl  back  to  where  they  had  come  from. 
This  was  long  before  the  days  of  the  modern  repeating 
rifle,  and  of  course  they  had  only  the  old-fashioned  muz- 
zle-loaders. 

For  about  seven  hours  the  Indians  made  it  very 
warm  for  the  boys;  then  they  got  together  and  held  a 
big  powwow,  after  which  they  rode  off  up  the  river.  The 
boys  watched  them  with  a  spy-glass  from  the  top  of  the 
building  until  they  were  satisfied  it  was  not  a  ruse  on 
the  part  of  the  savages,  but  that  they  had  really  cleared 
out. 

Graham  then  took  my  wife  and  two  children,  placed 

them  in  a  canoe,  and  started  down  the  Arkansas,  which 

was  very  high  at  the  time.  The  hired  man  saddled  a  colt 

that  had  never  before  been  ridden,  and  left  for  the  Point 

of  Rocks.   Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  colt  appeared  to 

know  what  was  required  of  him,  and  he  ran  nearly  the 

whole  distance — twenty  miles — in  less  than  an  hour  and 

a  half.  He  was  the  only  animal  out  of  sixteen  head  that 

was  saved  from  the  vengeance  of  the  Indians.  He  was  a 

little  beauty,  and  I  really  believe  that  the  savages  refrained 

•—50— 


from  killing  him  because  they  thought  they  would  event- 
ually get  him.  He  was  saved  in  this  manner:  After  the 
attack  had  been  progressing  for  a  long  time  and  there 
came  a  comparative  lull  in  the  action,  my  wife  opened 
the  door  a  little  to  see  what  the  Indians  were  up  to,  while 
the  boys  were  watching  at  the  loopholes;  the  colt  ob- 
served Mrs.  Wright,  made  a  rush  toward  her,  and  she, 
throwing  the  door  wide  open,  the  animal  dashed  into 
the  room  and  remained  there  quiet  as  a  lamb  until  the 
battle  was  over. 

The  Indians  killed  all  our  mules,  horses  and  hogs — 
we  had  of  the  latter  some  very  fine  ones — a  great  number 
of  our  chickens,  and  shot  arrows  into  about  thirty  cows, 
several  of  which  died.  The  majority  of  them  recovered, 
however,  although  their  food  ran  out  of  the  holes  in 
their  sides  for  days  and  weeks  until  the  shaft  of  the  ar- 
rows dropped  off,  but,  of  course,  the  iron  heads  remained 
in  their  paunches;  still  they  got  well. 

I  had  just  saddled  my  horse,  ready  to  start  back  to 
the  ranch,  when  the  hired  man  arrived,  bringing  the  terri- 
ble news  of  the  fight.  He  told  me  that  I  would  find  my 
wife  and  children  somewhere  on  the  river,  if  the  savages 
had  not  captured  them.  "For  my  part,"  he  said,  "I  am 
going  back  to  my  people  in  Missouri;  I  have  had  enough." 
He  was  a  brave  man,  but  a  "tenderfoot,"  and  no  wonder 
the  poor  fellow  had  seen  enough.  His  very  soul  had  been 
severely  tried  that  day.  I  at  once  called  for  volunteers, 
and  a  number  of  brave  frontiersmen  nobly  responded; 
there  were  only  two  or  three,  however,  who  had  their 
horses  ready;  but  others  followed  immediately,  until  our 
number  was  swelled  to  about  a  dozen.  A  wagon  and 
extra  horses  brought  up  the  rear,  to  provide  means  of 
transportation  for  my  wife  and  little  ones. 

When  we  had  traveled  thirteen  miles,  having  care- 
fully scanned  every  curve,  bend,  and  sand-bar  in  the 
stream,  we  discovered  Graham,  Mrs.  Wright,  and  the 

children  about  two  miles  ahead,  Graham    (God  bless 

—51— 


him!)  making  superhuman  effort  to  shove  the  boat  along 
and  keep  it  from  upsetting  or  sinking.  They  saw  us  at 
the  same  moment,  but  they  immediately  put  to  cover  on 
a  big  island.  We  shouted  and  waved  our  hats,  and  did 
everything  to  induce  them  to  come  to  us,  but  in  vain,  for, 
as  they  told  us  afterwards,  the  Indians  had  tried  the  same 
maneuvers  a  dozen  times  that  day,  and  Graham  was  too 
wary  to  be  caught  with  chaff.  At  last  Mrs.  Wright  rec- 
ognized a  large,  old,  white  hat  I  was  wearing,  and  she 
told  Graham  that  it  was  indeed  her  husband,  Robert. 
When  they  reached  the  bank,  we  took  them  out  of  the 
canoe  more  dead  than  alive,  for  the  frail,  leaky  craft  had 
turned  many  times;  but  Graham  and  Mrs.  Wright,  by 
some  means,  had  always  righted  it,  and  thus  saved  the 
little  children. 

A  party  went  with  me  to  our  ranch  the  next  day, 
and  we  witnessed  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten;  dead 
horses,  dead  hogs,  dead  cows  and  dead  chickens  piled 
one  upon  another  in  their  little  stockade.  Two  small  colts 
were  vainly  tugging  at  their  lifeless  mothers'  teats;  a  sad 
sight  indeed,  even  to  old  plainsmen  like  ourselves.  Both 
doors  of  the  building  were  bored  so  full  of  bullet  holes 
that  you  could  hardly  count  them,  as  they  lapped  over 
each  other  in  such  profusion.  Every  window  had  at  least 
a  dozen  arrows  sticking  around  it,  resembling  the  quills 
on  a  porcupine.  The  ceiling  and  walls  inside  the  room 
were  filled  with  arrows  also.  We  thought  we  would  fol- 
low up  the  trail  of  the  savages,  and  while  en  route  we  dis- 
covered a  government  ambulance,  wrecked,  and  its  driver, 
who  had  been  killed,  with  two  soldiers  and  citizens,  so 
horribly  butchered  and  mutilated  that  the  details  are  too 
horrible  and  disgusting  to  appear  in  print.  They  had  also 
captured  a  woman  and  carried  her  o&  with  them,  but  the 
poor  creature,  to  put  an  end  to  her  horrible  suffering, 
hung  herself  to  a  tree  on  the  banks  of  a  creek  northeast 
of  where  the  Indians  had  attacked  the  ambulance.    In 

consequence  of  her  act,  the  savages  called  the  place  White 

—52— 


Woman.  The  little  stream  bears  that  name  today;  but 
very  few  settlers,  however,  know  anything  of  its  sad  origin 
(it  was  on  this  creek,  some  years  later,  that  the  gallant 
Major  Lewis  met  his  death  wound  at  the  hands  of  the 
Indians,  while  bravely  doing  his  duty). 

After  the  fight  at  Spring  Bottom,  I  moved  down  to 
Fort  Aubrey,  where,  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  James 
Anderson,  I  built  a  fine  ranch.  At  that  place  we  had  nu- 
merous little  skirmishes,  troubles,  trials,  and  many  nar- 
row escapes  from  the  Indians.  While  at  Aubrey,  I  had 
my  experience  with  Fred  and  the  bull  buffalo,  as  described 
in  a  previous  chapter. 

Just  before  I  moved  from  Aubrey,  J.  F.  Bigger  and 
I  had  a  sub-contract  to  furnish  hay  at  Fort  Lyon,  seventy- 
five  miles  west  of  Aubrey.  While  we  were  preparing  to 
move  up  to  go  to  work,  a  vast  herd  of  buffalo  stampeded 
through  our  range  one  night  and  took  off  with  them 
about  half  of  our  work  cattle.  The  next  day  the  stage- 
driver  and  conductor  told  us  they  had  seen  a  few  of  our 
cattle  about  twenty-five  miles  east  of  Aubrey.  This  in- 
formation gave  me  an  idea  in  which  direction  to  hunt 
for  them,  and  I  started  after  the  missing  beasts,  while  my 
partner  took  those  that  remained  and  a  few  wagons  and 
left  for  Fort  Lyon. 

I  will  interpolate  here  the  statement  that  the  Indians 
were  supposed  to  be  peaceable,  although  small  war  parties 
of  young  men,  who  could  not  be  controlled  by  their  chiefs, 
were  continually  committing  depredations,  while  the 
main  body  of  the  savages  were  very  uneasy,  expecting  to 
go  out  any  day.  In  consequence  of  this  threatening  aspect 
of  affairs,  there  had  been  a  brisk  movement  of  troops 
stationed  at  the  various  military  posts,  a  large  number  of 
whom  were  supposed  to  be  on  the  road  from  Denver  to 
Fort  Lyon. 

I  took  along  with  me  some  ground  coffee,  filled  my 

saddle-bags  with  jerked  buffalo  and  hardtack,  a  belt  of 

cartridges,  my  rifle  and  six-shooter,  field-glass  and  blan- 

—53— 


kets,  and  was  ready  for  any  emergency.  The  first  day  out 
I  found  a  few  of  the  lost  cattle,  and  placed  them  on  the 
river  bottom,  which  I  continued  to  do  as  fast  as  I  recover- 
ed them,  for  a  distance  of  about  eighty-five  miles  down 
the  Arkansas,  where  I  met  a  wagon  train.  The  men  told 
me  I  would  find  several  more  with  the  train  that  had 
made  the  crossing  of  the  Cimarron  the  day  before.  I  came 
up  to  this  train  in  a  day's  travel  south  of  the  river,  got 
my  cattle,  and  started  next  morning  for  home.  I  picked 
up  my  cattle  on  the  river  where  I  had  left  them,  as  I  went 
along,  and,  having  made  a  tremendous  day's  travel,  about 
sundown  concluded  to  go  into  camp.  I  had  hardly  stop- 
ped before  the  cattle  began  to  drop  down,  so  completely 
tired  out  were  they,  as  I  thought. 

Just  as  it  was  growing  dark,  I  happened  to  look 
toward  the  west,  and  saw  several  fires  on  a  big  island  near 
what  was  called  the  Lone  Tree,  about  a  mile  from  where 
I  had  halted  for  the  night.  Thinking  they  were  camp- 
fires  of  the  soldiers  I  had  heard  were  on  the  road  from 
Denver,  and  anticipating  and  longing  for  a  good  cup  of 
coffee,  as  I  had  had  none  for  Rwc  days,  and  besides  feel- 
ing very  lonesome,  knowing,  too,  the  troops  would  be 
full  of  news,  I  felt  good,  and  did  not  think  or  dream  of 
anything  else  than  my  fond  anticipation;  in  fact,  was  so 
wrapped  up  in  my  thoughts  I  was  literally  oblivious  to 
myl  surroundings.  I  was  wild  to  hear  the  news  and 
wanted  a  good  supper,  which  I  knew  I  would  get  in  the 
soldiers'  camp. 

The  Arkansas  was  low,  but  the  bank  was  steep,  with 
high,  rank  grass  growing  to  the  very  waters'  edge.  I 
found  a  buffalo  trail  cut  through  the  steep  bank,  very 
narrow  and  precipitous.  Down  this  I  went,  and  arrived 
within  a  little  distance  of  my  supposed  soldiers'  camp. 
When  I  got  in  the  middle  of  a  deep  cut  I  looked  across  to 
the  island,  and  saw  a  hundred  little  fires  and  something 
less  than  a  thousand  savages  huddled  around  them. 

I  slid  back  off  my  horse  and  by  dint  of  great  exer- 
— 54~ 


tion  worked  him  up  the  river  bank  as  quietly  and  quickly 
as  possible,  then  led  him  gently  away  out  on  the  prairie. 
My  first  impulse  was  not  to  go  back  to  the  cattle;  but 
we  needed  them  very  badly;  so  I  concluded  to  return  to 
them,  putting  them  on  their  feet  mighty  lively,  without 
any  noise.  Then  I  started  them,  and,  oh,  dear,  I  was 
afraid  to  tread  on  a  weed  lest  it  would  snap  and  bring 
the  Indians  down  on  my  trail.  Until  I  had  put  several 
miles  between  them  and  me  I  could  not  rest  easy  for  a 
minute;  and  tired  as  I  was,  tired  as  were  my  horse  and 
the  cattle,  I  drove  them  twenty-five  miles  before  I  halted. 
Then  daylight  was  upon  me  and  I  lay  down  and  fell 
asleep.  I  was  at  what  is  known  as  Choteau's  Island,  a 
once  famous  place  on  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail. 

Of  course  I  had  to  let  the  cattle  and  my  horse  rest 
and  fill  themselves  until  the  afternoon,  but  I  did  not 
sleep  any  longer  myself.  As  I  thought  it  was  dangerous 
to  remain  too  near  the  cattle,  I  walked  up  a  big,  dry  sand 
creek  that  ran  into  the  river  at  that  point,  and,  after  I  had 
ascended  it  a  couple  of  miles,  found  the  banks  very  steep; 
in  fact,  they  rose  to  a  height  of  eighteen  or  twenty  feet, 
and  were  sharply  cut  up  by  narrow  trails  made  by  the 
buffalo.  Here  I  had  an  exciting  adventure  with  a  herd  of 
buffalo,  but  will  reserve  the  account  of  it  for  another 
chapter.  Nothing  further,  of  note,  happened  during  the 
afternoon,  and,  resuming  my  journey,  I  finally  arrived 
at  the  ranch  without  mishap. 

The  day  after  I  arrived  at  home  I  was  obliged  to 

start  to  Fort  Lyon  with  fourteen  or  fifteen  yoke  of  cattle 

and  four  or  five  wagons.    A  Mr.  Ward  volunteered  to 

accompany  me;  and  let  me  say  right  here,  he  was  as  brave 

a  young  man  as  it  has  ever  been  my  fortune  to  know. 

He  was  true  blue;  a  chip  of  the  old  block;  a  nephew  of 

General  Shelby;  he  might  well  be  proud  of  his  pluck. 

I  coupled  all  the  wagons  together  and  strung  all  the 

fifteen   yoke   of  oxen   to   them,   and   as   young   Ward 

could  not  drive  the  cattle  he  went  along  for  company 

— 55 — 


and  helped  me  yoke  up.  We  made  eighteen  miles  the 
first  day  and  stopped  at  Pretty  Encampment,  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  camping  places  on  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail, 
located  at  the  foot  of  Salt  Bottom.  We  yoked  up  the 
next  morning  several  hours  before  daylight,  as  the  moon 
was  shining  brightly;  we  wanted  to  cross  the  bottom  be- 
fore we  ate  breakfast.  A  few  miles  from  the  head  of  the 
bottom  the  trail  diverges,  one  cutting  across  the  bluff  and 
the  other  following  the  Arkansas;  we  were  on  the  lower 
one.  Presently  the  stage  came  along,  lumbering  over  the 
bluff,  stopped,  and  called  to  us.  I  went  to  it,  only  a  few 
hundred  yards  over  to  the  other  trail,  when  who  should 
I  see  but  my  partner,  Mr.  B.  F.  Bigger,  and  four  or  five 
other  men  in  the  coach,  besides  the  driver.  They  all  at 
once  cried  out.  Bigger  leading:  "Go  back  with  us,  go 
back  with  us,  or  you  will  both  be  killed."  I  said:  "Bigger, 
be  a  man;  stop  with  us  and  defend  your  property;  a  lot 
of  these  cattle  here  belong  to  you;  and  besides  you  have 
a  splendid  rifle."  He  replied:  "No,  I  must  go  to  Aubrey 
to  protect  my  wife  and  child."  I  answered:  "My  wife  and 
children  are  there,  too,  in  one  of  the  strongest  little  forts 
in  the  country,  six  or  eight  men  with  them,  and  plenty 
of  arms  and  ammunition;  all  the  Indians  on  the  plains 
cannot  take  them."  He  said:  "You  don't  know  how  many 
Indians  there  are;  they  stopped  the  coach,  took  what 
they  wanted  in  the  way  of  blankets  and  ammunition, 
two  or  three  six-shooters  they  found  on  the  front  seat, 
besides  other  things."  I  asked  him  why  they  didn't  take 
his  rifle,  and  he  replied:  "I  reckon  they  would  have  done 
so,  but  we  hid  it."  I  said:  "I  wish  they  had;  if  you  won't 
stop  with  us,  loan  us  your  gun;  we  have  only  one  rifle 
and  a  six-shooter."  He  said:  "No,  leave  the  cattle  and  go 
back  with  us;  they  will  be  down  on  you  in  a  little  while." 
"Well,  wait  until  I  see  Ward,"  I  answered.  "Be  quick 
about  it  then,"  replied  he. 

I  went  back  to  Ward  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted 
to  do.  I  said:  "You  have  nothing  to  gain  and  all  to  lose. 

—56— 


The  people  in  the  coach  yonder  say  there  are  several 
hundred  Indians  above  the  bend;  and  while  they  are  not 
actually  on  the  warpath,  they  stopped  the  coach  and 
robbed  it,  whipped  the  mules  with  their  quirts  until  they 
got  them  on  a  dead  run,  then  fired  at  them,  and  shot 
several  arrows  into  the  coach;  some  are  still  sticking  into 
the  back  of  it."  Ward  asked  me  what  I  was  going  to  do. 
I  said  that  a  man  might  as  well  be  dead  as  to  lose  his 
property,  and  I  proposed  to  stay  with  it;  "Maybo  we 
won't  see  an  Indian."  He  replied:  "I  am  going  to  stay 
with  you."  "God  bless  you  for  it,"  I  said,  "but  it  is  asking 
too  much  of  you."  "Well,  I  am  going  to  stay  with  you, 
anyhow."  Then  I  motioned  to  the  stage-driver  to  go  on, 
and  he  did  so  right  quickly.  The  cattle  had  all  laid  down 
in  the  yokes  while  we  halted,  but  we  soon  hustled  them 
up  and  started,  feeling  pretty  blue.  We  first  held  a  little 
consultation,  and  then  moved  all  the  ammunition  to  the 
first  wagon,  on  which  Ward  was  to  sit.  I  gave  him  the 
rifle;  I  had  on  a  six-shooter  and  a  belt  full  of  cartridges, 
and  we  agreed  to  let  the  Indians  take  the  grub  and  the 
blankets  if  they  came,  but  that  we  would  stay  by  our 
guns  and  ammunition.  Ward  said  he  would  never  get 
off  the  box  containing  the  ammunition. 

We  had  proceeded  about  two  miles,  were  awfully 
tired  and  hungry,  had  just  driven  out  of  the  road  to 
make  a  temporary  camp,  congratulating  ourselves  that 
we  had  missed  the  Indians,  when  here  they  came,  two 
on  their  ponies  at  first.  I  said  to  Ward  that  we  would 
lick  these  two;  they  dare  not  tackle  us,  but  we  had  better 
keep  right  on  and  not  go  into  camp.  Ward  raised  his 
gun  and  motioned  for  them  to  keep  off.  They  circled  and 
went  to  the  rear,  when  just  over  a  little  rise  the  whole 
business  of  them  poured.  I  pounded  away  and  yelled  at 
the  cattle  to  keep  them  moving,  but  there  were  so  many 
Indians  they  blocked  the  road,  and  we  came  to  a  stand- 
still. They  swarmed  around  us,  and  on  all  the  wagons, 
but  the  front  one;  this  Ward  kept  them  off  of.  They  took 

— 57 — 


all  of  our  grub  and  rope,  but  nothing  else.  After  string- 
ing their  bows  and  making  lots  of  threats  and  bluffs  at 
us,  they  dropped  a  little  behind  and  we  drove  off  and  left 
them.  We  hustled  the  cattle  along  five  or  six  miles,  when 
we  came  to  a  good  place  to  water.  Ward  ran  up  on  a 
bluff  to  see  what  had  become  of  the  savages,  while  I 
drove  the  cattle  chained  together  to  the  river.  Ward 
commenced  to  shout  just  as  I  reached  the  bank.  The  oxen 
got  no  water  that  day.  I  turned  them  around  in  a  hurry, 
hitched  on,  and  started.  Ward  said  that  the  Indians  were 
not  more  than  three  miles  off,  coming  our  way.  We 
never  made  another  halt  until  we  were  in  sight  of  the 
lights  on  Commissary  Hill,  at  old  Fort  Lyon,  which  we 
reached  about  one  o'clock  that  night.  I  reported  to  the 
commanding  officer  the  next  morning,  and  we  learned 
afterwards  that  these  Indians  had  been  on  Sand  Creek 
to  bury  the  bones  of  their  dead  who  were  killed  in  the 
Chivington  fight  several  years  before.  Only  a  week  after 
our  escape  there  was  a  general  outbreak  and  war. 

In  1866  I  went  to  Fort  Dodge.  Now,  one  might  be 
inclined  to  think  that  the  kind  of  life  I  had  been  leading— 
the  hard  experience — that  a  person  would  be  anxious  to 
abandon  it  at  the  first  favorable  opportunity;  but  this 
is  not  so.  It  gives  one  a  zest  for  adventure,  for  it  is  a  sort 
of  adventure  that  you  become  accustomed  to;  you  get  to 
like  it;  in  fact,  there  is  a  fascination  about  it  no  one  can 
resist.  Even  to  a  brave  man — God  knows  I  make  no  pre- 
tension to  that  honor — there  is  a  charm  to  the  life  he 
cannot  forego,  yet  I  felt  an  irresistible  power  and  could 
not  permit  myself  to  give  it  up. 

Mr.  A.  }.  Anthony  and  I  bought  out  the  Cimarron 
ranch,  twenty-five  miles  west  of  Fort  Dodge.  The  com- 
pany of  which  we  purchased  were  heartily  tired  of  the 
place,  and  eager  to  sell,  for  two  of  their  number  had  been 
brutally  murdered  by  the  Indians  while  attempting  to 
put  up  hay.  Anthony  was  an  old  "Overland  stage  mes- 
senger," had  seen  lots  of  ups  and  downs  with  the  Indians 

—58— 


on  the  plains,  and  rather  enjoyed  them.  So  we  got  to- 
gether some  of  the  old-timers  and  went  to  making  hay. 
Right  there  our  troubles  commenced.  We  both  had  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  Indians  and  their  methods  before;  but 
we  didn't  realize  what  they  could  and  would  do  when 
they  took  the  notion.  If  we  didn't  see  some  of  the  sav- 
ages every  day  it  was  a  wonder;  and  once  that  summer 
they  actually  let  us  alone  for  four  weeks.  I  remarked  to 
my  partner:  "There  is  something  wrong  in  this;  they 
must  be  sick."  So  they  were.  When  they  came  in  that 
winter  and  made  a  treaty,  they  told  us  the  cholera  had 
broken  out  among  them,  and  the  reason  for  their  remain- 
ing away  for  so  long  a  time  was  on  account  of  the  scourge. 
The  cholera  was  perfectly  awful  that  summer  on  the 
plains;  it  killed  soldiers,  government  employees,  Santa  Fe 
traders  and  emigrants.  Many  new  graves  dotted  the  road- 
sides and  camping  places,  making  fresh  landmarks. 

I  remember  two  soldiers  coming  up  with  the  mail 
escort  one  night,  who  were  severely  reprimanded  by  their 
sergeant  for  getting  drunk,  at  which  they  took  umbrage, 
stole  two  horses  and  deserted  the  next  day.  One  of  them 
returned  on  foot  about  noon,  stating  that  the  Indians  had 
attacked  them  early  in  the  morning,  got  their  animals 
from  the  picket  line,  and  shot  his  partner  through  the 
right  breast;  that  he  had  left  him  on  an  island  twelve 
miles  up  the  river.  Our  cook  had  been  complaining  a 
little  that  morning,  and  when  I  went  to  his  room  to  see 
him  he  said  that  he  had  dinner  all  ready,  and  would  like 
to  go  along  with  us  after  the  wounded  soldier.  I  told 
him  no;  to  stay  at  home,  go  to  bed,  keep  quiet,  and  above 
all  else  to  drink  very  little  cold  well-water.  The  sergeant 
took  six  men  and  the  escort  wagon  with  him,  and  I  fol- 
lowed on  horseback. 

When  we  arrived  opposite  the  island  we  hailed  the 
soldier,  and  he  came  out  of  the  brush.  He  walked  up 
and  down  the  river  bank,  and  made  signs  to  us  that  his 
right  arm  was  useless  and  he  seemed  to  be  in  great  pain. 

— 59 — 


The  sergeant  called  for  volunteers,  but  not  a  man  respond- 
ed. The  Arkansas  was  swimming  full  and  the  current 
was  very  swift  in  one  place  for  about  three  hundred  yards. 
It  appeared  that  none  of  his  comrades  liked  the  fellow 
very  well,  one  of  them  saying,  when  the  sergeant  asked 
for  some  one  to  go  over,  "If  he  don't  swim,  or  at  least 
make  an  effort,  he  can  stay,  and  I  hope  the  Indians  will 
get  him."  I  said,  "Boys,  this  won't  do;  I  will  get  him," 
and  after  him  I  went.  When  I  reached  the  island  I  sat 
down  and  reasoned  with  him;  told  him  exactly  what  I 
required  him  to  do.  He  seemed  very  grateful,  and  knew 
that  I  was  risking  my  own  life  on  him.  He  was  a  power- 
fully built  fellow,  and  his  wound  had  almost  paralyzed 
his  right  side.  He  said:  "Mr.  Wright,  I  appreciate  what 
you  have  done  for  me,  and  what  you  are  about  to  under- 
take; now,  before  God,  I  will  let  go  my  hold  if  I  see  you 
cannot  make  it."  He  stayed  nobly  by  his  promise.  When 
we  had  gone  under  water  several  times,  and  the  current 
was  bearing  us  down,  and  it  appeared  that  every  minute 
would  be  our  last,  he  said,  in  the  despair  of  death:  "I  am 
going;  let  me  go."  I  replied,  "For  God's  sake,  no;  hold 
on."  I  then  felt  inspired.  I  said  to  myself,  this  man  has  a 
grand  nature;  I  am  going  to  save  him  or  sink  with  him. 
Indeed,  all  these  thoughts  flashed  through  my  mind,  and, 
as  God  is  my  judge,  I  would  have  done  it,  as  at  that  mom- 
ent I  had  no  fear  of  death  whatever.  When  I  reached  the 
bank  I  was  completely  exhausted  and  had  to  be  helped  out 
of  the  water.  I  was  awfully  sick;  it  seemed  that  my 
strength  had  left  me  absolutely.  It  was  fully  an  hour 
before  I  was  strong  enough  to  ride. 

Strange  to  say,  I  lay  side  by  side  with  this  poor  man 
in  the  hospital  at  Fort  Dodge,  after  his  rescue.  He  was 
excessively  kind  and  attentive,  and  when  I  began  to  con- 
valesce— ^for  the  same  night  I  was  stricken  down  with 
cholera — we  exchanged  drinks;  he  took  my  brandy,  I  his 
ale.  He  would  insist  in  saying  that  the  cause  of  my  sick- 
ness was  the  terrible  exertion  I  had  made  that  day  in  his 

—60— 


behalf;  but  it  was  not  so.  When  I  got  back  to  the  ranch, 
after  our  ride  up  the  river,  our  poor  cook  was  in  a  terribly 
bad  fix.  I  knew  that  he  was  gone  the  moment  I  saw  him, 
although  he  was  still  sitting  up  and  appeared  cheerful, 
except  when  the  cramps  would  seize  him.  I  asked  him 
what  he  had  been  drinking.  He  replied  that  his  thirst 
was  so  intolerable  that  he  drank  a  whole  bucketful  of 
canned  lemonade.  I  said  to  him,  "My  poor  boy,  make 
your  peace  with  God;  tell  me  the  address  of  your  parents 
or  friends."  He  answered :  "I  have  none ;  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference; I  think  I  will  pull  through  all  right."  In  an  hour 
he  was  dead.  We  were  laying  him  out  in  the  shade  on 
the  east  side  of  the  house,  and  I  was  in  the  act  of  tying 
up  his  jaws,  when  a  breeze  from  the  south  seemed  to  en- 
ter his  mouth  and  wafted  back  into  mine.  I  said  then, 
"There^  boys,  I  have  tasted  the  cholera  from  this  poor 
fellow,"  and  at  once  set  about  making  my  preparations 
as  to  my  business  affairs  and  other  matters.  Before  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was  down  with  the  dreadful 
disease.  Barlow,  Sanderson,  &  Company,  the  proprietors 
of  the  "Overland  Stage,"  to  whom  I  had  shown  many 
favors,  the  moment  they  heard  of  my  illness,  sent  an  am- 
bulance and  escort  of  soldiers,  and  I  was  conveyed  to  the 
hospital  at  Fort  Dodge.  There,  under  the  kind  and  care- 
ful treatment  of  Doctors  De  Graw  and  Wilson,  I  re- 
covered. 

I  must  go  back  to  the  haymaking  at  the  ranch.  Day 
after  day  the  Indians  would  harass  us  in  some  manner, 
but  they  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  killing  any  of  our  men, 
although  they  repeatedly  ran  off  our  stock,  fired  into  and 
broke  up  our  camp,  until  even  old-timers,  men  in  whom 
we  had  placed  the  utmost  confidence  and  depended  upon 
in  case  of  emergency,  began  to  grow  tired.  They  said  it 
was  too  monotonous  for  them.  I  don't  think  they  really 
understood  the  true  definition  of  the  word.  Still  we  per- 
sisted, were  hopeful,  and  continued  to  hire  new  men  at 

from  seventy-five  to  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  for  com- 

—61— 


mon  hands;  we  had  to  have  hay.  We  considered  it  no 
more  than  just  to  tell  these  new  men,  when  we  hired 
them,  they  would  have  to  take  desperate  chances,  and  that 
was  the  reason  we  were  paying  such  large  wages.  Well, 
the  Indians  finally  exhausted  us  of  our  horse  stock,  and  we 
had  to  resort  to  ponies;  but  they  were  too  small  and  we 
got  along  very  slowly.  We  were  compelled  to  purchase 
a  big  span  of  mules  of  the  United  States  mail  company, 
for  which  we  paid  six  hundred  dollars.  Mr.  Anthony 
was  very  proud  of  them,  as  he  often  sat  behind  them  when 
he  was  a  messenger  on  the  overland  routes.  They  were 
named  Puss  and  Jennie.  The  first  morning  they  were 
sent  to  the  haystack  Anthony  was  in  the  corral  stacking. 
After  a  while  he  came  to  the  house,  looking  as  proud  as 
a  peacock,  and  said  to  me:  "Hear  that  machine?  Ain^t 
Puss  and  Jennie  making  it  hum?"  But  the  sound  did  not 
seem  natural  to  me,  so  I  grabbed  a  spy-glass  and  ascend- 
ed to  the  lookout  on  top  of  the  building.  Sure  enough, 
just  as  I  expected,  I  saw  two  Indians  come  up,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  mules,  pounding  them  over  the  backs  with 
their  bows,  and  they  were  making  it  hum,  while  the  boys 
in  the  camp  were  shooting  as  fast  as  they  could  load  and 
fire,  protecting  the  poor  driver,  who  was  running  toward 
them  for  his  life  with  about  two  dozen  of  the  red  devils 
after  him,  whooping,  yelling,  and  shouting  as  they  charged 
upon  him.  The  two  Indians  who  attacked  the  driver  of  the 
mowing-machine  had  watched  their  opportunity,  rushed 
out  of  the  brush  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  were  upon 
him  before  he  had  the  slightest  idea  of  their  presence,  and 
running  off  with  the  mules.  His  two  revolvers  were 
strapped  upon  the  machine,  and  he  could  do  nothing  but 
drop  off  behind  from  his  seat,  leave  his  weapons,  and  run 
for  his  life. 

The  government  had  ten  men  and  a  sergeant  station- 
ed at  the  ranch,  on  escort  duty  with  the  United  States 
mail.  One  day  while  the  men  were  at  dinner,  and  a  soldier 
was  on  guard  outside,  whom  I  suspected  was  asleep  at  the 

—62— 


time,  two  Indians,  who  had  stolen  a  couple  of  old  mules 
from  the  stage  station  forty  miles  above,  rode  by  and  fired 
at  the  sentinel,  just  for  fun,  I  believe,  or  at  least  to  wake 
him  up,  and  then  dashed  down  to  the  river,  crossing  close 
to  a  Mexican  train.  Quicker  than  thought  they  unsaddled 
their  mules,  threw  them  upon  the  back  of  two  freight 
horses  that  were  picketed  near,  mounted  them,  and  jump- 
ed off  a  steep  bank  five  feet  deep  into  the  Arkansas  and 
were  over  on  the  other  side  before  the  astonished  Mexi- 
cans really  knew  what  was  going  on. 

The  day  before  the  same  train  had  left  a  lame  steer 
out  in  the  sand  hills,  and  the  wagon  boss  sent  one  of  the 
hands  back  after  it  that  morning.  As  soon  as  the  two 
Indians  crossed  the  river  they  spied  the  Mexican  with  the 
lame  ox  and  immediately  took  after  him.  From  the  top 
of  my  building,  with  an  excellent  glass,  I  could  plainly  see 
their  whole  maneuverings.  The  savages  circled  around 
the  poor  "greaser"  again  and  again;  charged  him  from 
the  front  and  rear  and  on  both  sides,  until  I  actually 
thought  they  had  ridden  over  him  a  dozen  times,  empty- 
ing their  revolvers  whenever  they  made  a  charge.  They 
would  only  halt  long  enough  to  re-load  and  then  were 
after  him  again.  During  all  these  tactics  of  the  Indians 
the  Mexican  never  made  any  attempt  to  return  their  fire; 
that  saved  his  life  and  scalp.  They  wanted  to  compel 
him  to  empty  his  revolvers,  and  then  they  could  run 
up  and  kill  him.  Of  course,  from  the  distance,  nearly 
two  miles,  I  could  not  hear  the  report  of  the  Indians' 
weapons,  but  I  could  see  the  smoke  distinctly,  and  I 
knew  that  the  Mexican  had  not  fired  a  shot.  Presently 
the  poor  fellow's  horse  went  down,  and  he  lay  behind 
it  for  awhile.  Then  he  cut  the  girth,  took  off  the  saddle, 
and  started  for  the  river,  running  at  every  possible  chance, 
using  the  saddle  as  a  shield,  stopping  to  show  fight  only 
when  the  savages  pressed  him  too  closely;  then  he  would 
make  another  stand,  with  the  saddle  set  up  in  front  of 

him.   After  a  few  more  unsuccessful  charges,  the  Indians 

—63— 


left  him.  When  he  had  arrived  safely  at  the  train,  they 
asked  him  why  he  had  not  fired  a  shot  when  the  In- 
dians rode  so  close  to  him.  He  stated  if  he  had  a  thou- 
sand shots  he  would  have  fired  them  all,  but  in  crossing 
the  river  that  morning  his  horse  had  to  swim  and  his 
revolver  got  wet  (the  cartridges  were  the  old-fashioned 
kind,  made  of  paper,  and  percussion  caps  the  means  of 
priming.  It  was  fortunate,  perhaps;  for  if  the  Indians  had 
surmised  that  his  revolver  would  not  go  off,  they  would 
have  had  his  scalp  dangling  at  their  belts  in  short  order. 
The  Indians  had  given  us  a  respite  at  the  ranch  for 
awhile  (I  refer  to  the  time  I  have  mentioned  when  they 
were  attacked  by  the  cholera).  We  had  recruited  up  con- 
siderably, were  in  high  hopes,  and  had  started  in  fresh, 
as  it  were,  when  one  morning  they  swooped  down  upon 
us  again  to  the  number  of  two  thousand,  it  appeared  to 
me ;  but  there  was  not  that  many,  of  course ;  still  they  were 
thick  enough.  It  looked  as  if  both  of  the  banks  of  the 
Arkansas  were  alive  with  them,  as  well  as  every  hill  and 
hollow.  There  were  Indians  everywhere.  Our  men  were 
all  in  th  hay  field,  with  the  exception  of  two,  and  my  part- 
ner, Mr.  Anthony,  was  with  them.  Anthony  was  a  cool, 
brave  man;  knew  exactly  what  to  do  and  when  to  act.  I 
think  that  his  presence  saved  the  party.  I  could  see  the 
whole  affair  from  the  lookout.  As  soon  as  the  firing  be- 
gan we  could  see  our  watchman,  who  was  stationed  on  a 
bluff,  and  his  horse  ran  away  and  threw  him,  but  he  man- 
aged to  get  to  the  boys  in  the  field.  We  were  using  two 
wagons  with  four  yoke  of  cattle  to  each.  The  wagons 
were  about  half  loaded,  and  the  boys  had  to  fly  and  leave 
them  standing.  The  Indians  set  the  hay  on  fire,  then  open- 
ed with  a  shower  of  arrows  upon  the  steers,  and  started 
them  on  a  run,  scared  out  of  their  senses.  We  found  them 
after  the  thing  was  over,  all  dead  in  a  string,  chained  to- 
gether as  they  had  been  at  work.  The  savages  had  lots 
of  fun  out  of  their  running  the  poor  brutes  around  the 
bottoms  while  the  hay  on  the  wagons  was  burning.    At 

—64— 


the  first  attack  the  men  all  got  together  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible and  made  for  the  camp,  which  was  on  the  bank  of 
the  river.  A  hundred  or  more  Indians  charged  them  so 
close  that  it  appeared  they  would  ride  over  them,  but 
whenever  our  boys  made  a  stand  and  dropped  on  their 
knees  and  began  to  deliberately  shoot,  they  would  shy  off 
like  a  herd  of  frightened  antelope.  This,  they  kept  up 
until  they  reached  the  river,  over  half  a  mile  from  where 
they  started  in  the  field,  then  they  made  for  a  big  island 
covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  willows;  there  they  hid, 
remaining  until  after  dark..  We  at  the  ranch  formed 
little  parties  repeatedly  and  tried  to  go  to  their  relief  by 
hugging  the  river  bank,  but  at  every  attempt  were  driven 
back  by  an  overwhelming  number  of  savages. 

The  Indians  charged  upon  our  men  in  the  willows 
many  times  during  the  day,  in  their  efforts  to  dislodge 
them,  and  so  close  did  some  of  them  come  on  their  ponies 
that  any  of  the  boys  by  a  single  spring  could  have  grabbed 
their  bridle-reins.  Although  they  might  have  killed  sev- 
eral of  the  savages,  the  latter  would  have  eventually  over- 
powered them,  and  cruelly  butchered  the  last  one  of  them. 
To  show  how  cool  and  brave  a  man  old  Anthony  was,  and 
what  stuff  the  men  were  made  of,  he  passed  many  a  joke 
around  among  the  boys.  There  was  a  stern  reticent  veteran 
in  the  group,  whose  pipe  was  seldom  out  of  his  mouth  ex- 
cepting when  he  was  asleep.  Anthony  would  repeatedly 
hand  him  his  pipe  and  tobacco,  and  say:  "Brother  Tubbs, 
take  a  smoke;  I  am  afraid  there  is  something  wrong  with 
you;  have  you  given  up  the  weed?"  Tubbs  would  reply: 
"If  we  don't  be  getting  out  of  here,  we  won't  be  making 
those  ten  leads  of  hay  today,  and  you  will  lose  your  bet." 
Anthony  had  wagered  with  some  one  that  they  would 
haul  ten  loads  of  hay  that  day.  These  and  similar  jokes 
passed  between  them  all  the  while,  while  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  hundreds  of  savages,  many  of  them  within 
five  or  six  steps  very  frequently;  the  least  false  move  on 
the  part  of  the  besieged,  and  none  of  them  would  have 

-—65— 


lived  as  long  as  it  takes  me  to  write  this.  About  three 
o'clock  that  afternoon  we  heard  firing  both  above  and 
below  us.  The  Indians  had  attacked  the  United  States  pay- 
master coming  up  the  river,  and  several  companies  of 
soldiers  coming  down,  and  gave  them  a  hot  fight,  too, 
compelling  them  to  go  into  corral,  and  holding  them  for 
several  hours. 

These  constant  skirmishes  kept  up  till  late  in  the  fall; 
in  November  and  December,  1868,  the  Indians  made  a 
treaty.  I  then  sent  for  my  family,  who  were  in  Missouri. 
A  short  time  after  their  arrival,  one  Sunday  morning, 
during  a  terrible  snowstorm,  and  no  help  at  the  ranch 
but  two  stage  drivers  and  a  Mexican  boy,  I  threw  open 
the  large  double  doors  of  the  storeroom,  and,  before  I 
could  even  think,  in  popped  forty  Indians,  all  fully  armed, 
equipped,  and  hideous  with  their  war  paint  on.  I  thought 
to  myself,  "Great  God,  what  have  I  done;  murdered  my 
wife  and  little  ones!"  We  had  to  use  strategem;  resistance 
would  have  been  useless.  The  stack  of  guns  was  in  the 
corner  behind  the  counter,  in  a  passageway  leading  to  the 
dwelling-house,  or  in  the  part  of  the  building  in  which  I 
lived.  I  called  to  the  Mexican  boy,  in  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment, to  get  his  revolver  and  hold  the  door  at  all  hazards; 
to  put  the  guns  one  at  a  time  inside  of  the  sitting  room, 
and  to  shoot  the  first  Indian  who  attempted  to  get  over 
the  counter;  to  tell  the  savages  what  I  had  ordered,  in 
Spanish,  and  that  I  would  remain  with  them  and  take  my 
chances.  Everything  worked  to  a  charm,  except  that  the 
Indians  commenced  beating  the  snow  off  of  them  and 
laying  aside  their  accouterments.  I  said  to  the  boy:  "Tell 
them,  in  Spanish,  this  won't  do;  they  could  not  stay  in 
here;  this  is  the  soldiers'  room;  but  they  must  follow  me 
out  into  a  larger,  warmer  room  where  we  would  cook 
them  some  chuck."  This  he  accomplished  by  signs  and 
in  Spanish,  as  rapidly  as  God  would  let  him.  I  said: 
"When  the  last  one  is  out,  jump  quickly  and  double-bar 
the  door;  it  is  our  only  chance."   I  thought  the  reason 

—66— 


why  the  Indians  acted  so  coolly  was  that  they  believed 
they  had  a  "dead  cinch"  on  us,  and  were  in  no  hurry  to 
commence  action. 

As  soon  as  the  boy  had  finished  talking  to  them  they 
turned  and  followed  me  out.  One  of  them  took  hold  of 
me  with  many  a  sign  and  gesture,  but  as  I  could  only 
understand  the  sign  language  a  little,  barely  enough  to 
trade  with  the  Indians,  I  was  at  this  moment  so  excited 
that  I  hardly  understood  English.  The  savage  then  led 
me  back  to  the  door  and  signed  for  me  to  open  it.  I  shook 
my  head  and  said:  "Oh,  no,  old  fellow;  not  for  all  the 
gold  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  would  I  open  that  door 
again;  my  dearest  treasures  on  earth  are  in  there,  and  as 
long  as  these  doors  are  closed  that  long  they  are  safe; 
but  God  only  knows  how  long  they  will  remain  so."  At 
my  refusal  he  immediately  began  to  abuse  me  most  out- 
rageously; spat  in  my  face,  and  went  on  like  a  madman; 
more  than  once  he  reached  for  his  revolver,  and,  of  course, 
I  thought  my  time  had  surely  come.  The  Mexican  boy, 
having  heard  the  rumpus,  slipped  out  of  the  back  door 
and  came  around  the  house  to  see  what  was  up.  I  said  to 
him:  "Placido,  what  does  he  mean?"  Placido  commenced 
to  smile  (the  first  beam  of  sunshine  I  had  seen  since  the 
entrance  of  the  savages),  and  he  replied:  "Oh,  that  is  all 
right;  he  left  his  bow  in  there,  and  because  you  won't 
open  the  door  thinks  you  want  to  steal  it."  "Tell  him  I 
will  get  it;  and,  now  you  have  got  him  in  good  humor, 
ask  him  what  they  all  want  and  what  they  are  after,  and 
tell  me."  When  I  returned  Placido  and  the  savages  were 
talking  like  old  chums.  The  boy  said  "No  danger,  we 
are  all  right;  this  is  a  party  of  young  bucks  going  to  the 
mountains  to  steal  horses  from  the  Utes."  This  intelli- 
gence was  a  burden  lifted,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  fall 
down  and  worship  the  great  God  who  created  me.  I  said: 
"Bring  out  the  fatted  calf;  feed  them  to  their  hearts*  con- 
tent, and  until  their  bellies  pop  out  like  pizened  pups; 
until  their  vary  in'ards  are  made  to  cry,  'Enough!'  and 

—67— 


want  no  more."  Instead  of  the  fatted  calf  we  cooked  them 
several  camp  kettles  full  of  bacon  and  beans,  many  of  the 
same  full  of  coffee,  two  gallons  of  black  molasses,  plenty 
of  sugar,  and  a  box  of  hardtack.  They  feasted,  and  went 
on  their  way  rejoicing. 

The  ultimate  fate  of  the  old  ranch  was,  that  the  In- 
dians burnt  it,  together  with  several  tons  of  hay,  the  day 
after  Mr.  Anthony  abandoned  it,  by  order  of  Major 
Douglas,  commanding  Fort  Dodge. 


— 68 — 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Greatest  Game  Country  on  Earth 

r\P  course,  it  was  not  always  fight  and  run,  run  and 
^^  fight;  we  had  our  fun,  too.  One  day  a  stage  driver, 
Frank  Harris,  and  myself  started  out  after  buffalo.  They 
were  very  scarce,  for  a  wonder,  and  we  were  very  hungry 
for  fresh  meat.  The  day  was  fine,  and  we  rode  a  long 
way,  expecting  sooner  or  later  to  rouse  up  a  bunch.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  we  gave  it  up,  and  started  for  home.  Of 
course,  we  did  not  care  to  save  our  ammunition;  so  we 
shot  away  at  everything  in  sight — skunks,  rattlesnakes, 
prairie  dogs,  and  so  on — until  we  had  only  a  few  cart- 
ridges left.  Suddenly  up  jumped  an  old  bull  that  had 
been  lying  down  in  one  of  those  sugar-loaf  shaped  sand 
hills,  with  the  top  hollowed  out  by  the  action  of  the  wind. 
Harris  emptied  his  revolver  into  him,  and  so  did  I  but 
the  old  fellow  stood  suddenly  still  on  top  of  the  sand  hill 
bleeding  profusely  at  the  nose,  but  persistently  refusing 
to  die,  although  he  would  repeatedly  stagger  and  nearly 
topple  over.  It  was  getting  late,  and  we  could  not  wait 
for  him,  so  Harris  said:  "I  will  dismount,  creep  up  be- 
hind him,  and  cut  his  hamstrings  with  my  butcher 
knife,"  the  bull  by  this  time  having  laid  down.  Harris 
commenced  his  forward  movement,  but  it  seemed  to  in- 
fuse new  life  into  the  old  fellow;  he  jumped  to  his  feet, 
and,  with  his  head  down,  away  he  went  around  the  out- 
side of  the  top  of  the  sand  hill.  It  was  a  perfect  circus 
ring,  and  Harris,  who  had  gotten  him  by  the  tail,  never 
let  go  his  hold;  he  did  not  dare;  it  was  his  only  show. 
Harris  was  a  tall,  lank  fellow,  and  his  legs  were  flying 
higher  than  his  head,  as  round  and  round  he  and  the 
bull  went.  I  could  not  help  him  in  the  least,  but  had  to 
sit  and  hold  his  horse  and  judge  the  fight.  I  really  thought 

that  the  old  bull  would  never  weaken.    Harris  said  to  me, 

—69— 


after  it  was  over,  that  the  only  thing  he  feared  was  that 
he  would  pull  the  bull's  tail  out  by  the  roots,  and  if  he 
did  he  was  a  goner.  Finally  the  ring  performance  began 
to  grow  slower  and  slower,  and  Harris  at  last  succeeded 
in  cutting  his  hamstrings,  when  down  went  the  bull.  We 
brought  in  his  tongue,  hump,  and  hindquarters,  and,  at  a 
glorious  feast  that  night,  had  a  big  laugh  with  the  boys 
over  Harris'  comical  adventure. 

I  wish  here  to  assert  a  few  facts  concerning  game, 
and  animal  life  in  general,  in  early  days,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Fort  Dodge  and  Dodge  City.  There  were  wonderful 
herds  of  buffalo,  antelope,  deer,  elk,  and  wild  horses. 
There  were  big  gray  wolves  and  coyotes  by  the  thousand, 
hundreds  of  the  latter  frequently  being  seen  in  bands,  and 
often  from  ten  to  fifty  grays  in  a  bunch.  There  were  also 
black  and  cinnamon  bears,  wild  cats  and  mountain  lions, 
though  these  latter  were  scarce  and  seldom  seen  so  far 
from  the  mountains.  Then  there  was  the  cunning  little 
prairie  dog — millions  of  them;  and  next  in  number  to 
them  was  the  little  swift,  similar  to  a  fox  in  shape  and 
color,  but  much  prettier,  and  it  could  run  like  a  streak, 
which  gave  it  the  name  of  swift.  They  were  very  suscept- 
ible to  poison,  and  soon  vanished  from  the  face  of  the 
earth,  as  did  the  black  croaking  raven.  I  have  seen  the 
ground  literally  covered  with  dead  ravens,  for  the  space 
of  an  acre,  around  the  carcasses  of  dead  wolves  that  had 
been  poisoned;  having  eaten  of  the  flesh  of  the  poisoned 
wolves,  it  affected  the  ravens  the  same  as  if  they  had  eaten 
the  poison  direct. 

One  terror  of  the  plains  was  mad  wolves.  Several 
times  were  the  different  forts  visited  by  them,  and  they 
not  only  did  great  damage  to  stock,  but  frequently  to 
human  beings.  One  ran  into  Fort  Larned  one  night,  bit 
the  officer  of  the  day.  Lieutenant  Thompson,  and  two 
soldiers,  and  I  think  two  or  three  employees  of  the  gov- 
ernment. Thompson  went  east  and  put  himself  under 
treatment,  but  he  never  was  the  same  man  afterward.  It 

—70— 


is  doubtful  whether  it  was  the  treatment  he  underwent 
that  affected  him,  or  the  continual  dread.  The  others  all 
died. 

Now  I  wish  to  give  an  idea  of  the  great  number  of 
water-fowl  and  amphibious  animals,  such  as  the  otter, 
beaver,  muskrat,  weasel,  and  mink,  that  were  found  on 
the  southwestern  plains.  Up  to  about  1870  the  beavers 
were  plentiful,  and  there  was  also  quite  a  number  of 
otter;  but  neither  of  these  animals  could  stand  civilization, 
and  both  were  soon  wiped  out  of  existence,  on  account  of 
the  high  price  of  their  fur,  and  too  many  trappers. 

For  some  years  after  Dodge  was  established,  our 
rivers,  streams,  ponds  and  lakes  were  covered  with  wild 
fowl — ducks,  geese,  swans,  brants,  pelicans,  cranes  and 
every  species  of  water-fowl  known  to  this  continent.  It 
was  a  poor  day  or  a  poor  hunter  who  could  not  kill  a 
hundred  ducks  and  geese  in  a  day,  and  sometimes  several 
hundred  were  killed  in  a  day,  so  one  can  judge  by  this 
how  plentiful  they  were.  Then  turkeys  and  quails — 
there  was  no  end  to  them.  Their  number  were  countless; 
one  could  not  estimate  them.  Indeed,  I  am  almost  asham- 
ed to  state  how  many  I  have  seen,  but  what  I  am  going 
to  say  about  their  number  is  no  exaggeration.  I  have  seen 
thousands  of  turkeys  in  a  flock,  coming  into  roost  on  the 
North  Fork  and  the  main  Canadian  and  its  timbered 
branches.  Several  times,  at  a  distance,  we  mistook  them 
for  large  herds  of  buffalo.  They  literally  covered  the 
prairie  for  miles,  with  their  immense  flocks,  and,  more 
than  once,  we  saddled  our  horses  to  make  a  run  for  them, 
thinking  they  were  buffalo.  If  my  recollection  serves  me 
right,  about  ninety  miles  down  the  North  Fork  of  the 
Canadian  from  Fort  Supply,  is  what  is  called,  Sheridan's 
Roost,  named  for  the  large  number  of  wild  turkeys,  killed 
in  a  single  night,  by  Major-General  Sheridan's  escort,  who 
made  camp  there  one  night.  I  had  passed  by  the  place 
before,  and  several  times  after  the  big  killing,  and  I 
should  think  it  was  rightly  named,  for,  in  my  trips 

—71— 


through  that  country,  I  thought  I  saw,  with  my  own 
eyes,  more  wild  turkeys  than  there  were  tame  ones  in 
the  whole  United  States  put  together;  and  there  were  just 
as  many  quails  in  the  sand  hills,  bordering  on  these 
streams. 

I  must  not  fail  to  mention,  among  our  game  birds,  the 
pretty  prairie  plover,  which,  for  about  three  months  in 
the  year,  came  in  great  numbers  and  dotted  the  prairie 
everywhere.  It  was  a  most  beautiful  game  bird  and  con- 
sidered by  epicures  to  be  very  fine  eating,  superior  to  quail 
in  flavor  and  juiciness.  I  have  often  gone  out  and  killed 
from  one  hundred  to  two  hundred,  and  back  to  Dodge, 
inside  of  four  hours.  It  was  beautiful  sport.  The  bird 
would  arise  singly,  when  you  approached  it  within  forty 
or  fifty  yards,  and  sail  gently  away  from  you ;  and  before 
you  could  reach  your  first  dead  bird,  you  would  often- 
times have  three  or  four  more  down.  Army  officers,  and 
distinguished  sportsmen  and  our  governors  and  congress- 
men would  come  here  to  hunt  them.  But,  like  the  wild 
turkey  and  other  game,  the  prairie  plover,  too,  has  almost 
ceased  to  appear.  Civilization  or  settlement  of  the  country 
has  sounded  its  death  note. 

I  have  spoken  about  the  great  number  of  wild  ani- 
mals, but  have  failed  to  mention  the  skunks.  They,  too, 
were  very  numerous,  in  the  early  days,  at  and  around 
Dodge  City,  and,  strange  to  say,  their  bite  was  almost  al- 
ways fatal.  At  least  eight  or  ten  persons  died  here  from 
their  bite,  the  first  season  Dodge  started.  We  supposed 
they  were  mad  skunks,  or  affected  with  hydrophobia. 
Every  one,  of  course,  slept  out  of  doors,  and  skunks  would 
crawl  right  into  bed  with  the  men,  and  bite.  Some  were 
bitten  on  the  nose,  some  on  the  lip,  some  on  the  hand  or 
finger,  and  one  man  had  his  toe  bitten  almost  off.  One 
man  who  was  bitten  through  the  nose,  had  the  skunk 
hold  on  to  him,  while  he  ran  through  the  camp  in  the 
night,  beating  with  both  hands  at  Mr.  Skunk  and  he  had 
a  time  getting  rid  of  the  beast.    The  man  whose  toe  was 

—72— 


bitten  was  George  Oaks,  partner,  at  the  time,  of  our  fel- 
low townsman,  Mr.  George  Richards.  After  he  was  bit- 
ten he  determined  to  have  revenge,  so  he  camped  his 
train  (and  he  had  quite  a  large  mule  train)  and  waited 
for,  some  say,  four  nights,  before  Mr.  Skunk  came  back. 
Anyhow,  he  laid  his  train  up  for  a  day  or  two.  But  fin- 
ally, one  night,  he  blew  Mr.  Skunk's  head  off  with  a 
double-barreled  shotgun,  and,  not  satisfied  emptying  both 
barrels  into  his  victim,  reloaded  and  shot  him  again.  He 
sure  got  his  revenge.  Some  people  were  mean  enough  to 
say  that  Mr.  Skunk  would  have  died  anyway,  after  biting 
Mr.  Oaks,  and  that  Mr.  Skunk  only  came  back  to  apolo- 
gize, after  he  found  out  whom  he  had  bitten,  but  I  think 
different;  this  was  a  joke,  for  George  Oaks  was  my  friend 
and  a  big  hearted,  noble  fellow,  even  if  a  little  eccentric, 
and  some  people  could  not  appreciate  him. 

The  creeks,  when  the  Fort  (Dodge)  was  first  started, 
were  all  heavily  wooded  with  hackberry,  ash,  box-elder, 
Cottonwood,  and  elm.  We  cut  fifteen  hundred  cords  of 
wood  almost  in  one  body  on  a  little  creek  six  miles  north 
of  the  fort,  all  hackberry.  There  were  a  good  many 
thousand  cords  cut  on  the  Sawlog,  which  stream  is  prop- 
erly the  south  fork  of  the  Pawnee,  but  the  soldiers  would 
go  out  to  the  old  Hays  crossing,  chop  down  a  big  tree, 
hitch  a  string  of  large  mules  to  it,  haul  it  up  on  the  bank 
near  the  ford,  and,  after  stripping  off  its  top  and  limbs, 
leave  its  huge  trunk  there.  In  consequence  thousands  of 
immense  logs  accumulated,  making  the  place  look  as 
if  a  sawmill  had  been  established;  and  these  great  trunks 
were  sawlogs  ready  to  be  cut  into  lumber.  The  early  buf- 
falo hunters  called  the  creek  Sawlog,  which  name  it  bears 
to  this  day. 

Just  above  the  crossings  was  a  great  resort  and  covert 
for  elk.  I  have  seen  as  many  as  fifty  in  a  single  band  at 
one  time.  Every  spring  we  would  go  out  there  and  cap- 
ture young  ones.    That  region  was  also  the  heart  of  the 

buffalo  range  as  well  as  that  of  the  antelope.    I  have  seen 

—73— 


two  thousand  of  the  latter  graceful  animals  in  a  single 
bunch  driven  right  into  Fort  Dodge  against  the  buildings 
by  a  storm.  I  have  shot  buffalo  from  the  w^alls  of  my 
corral  at  the  fort,  and  so  many  of  them  were  there  in 
sight  it  appeared  impossible  to  count  them.  It  was  a 
difficult  problem  to  determine  just  how  many  buffalo  I 
saw  at  one  time.  I  have  traveled  through  a  herd  of  them 
days  and  days,  never  out  of  sight  of  them;  in  fact,  it 
might  be  correctly  called  one  continuous  gathering  of  the 
great  shaggy  monsters.  I  have  been  present  at  many  a 
cattle  round-up,  and  have  seen  ten  thousand  head  in  one 
herd  and  under  complete  control  of  their  drivers;  but  I 
have  seen  herds  of  buffalo  so  immense  in  number  that 
the  vast  aggregation  of  domestic  cattle  I  have  mentioned 
seemed  as  none  at  all  compared  with  them. 

In  writing  this  brief  description  of  animal  life  along 
the  old  trails,  I  have  purposely  left  till  the  last  the  men- 
tion of  the  buffalo  for  it  is  the  animal  to  which  it  is  hard- 
est to  do  justice.  The  southwestern  plains,  in  early  days, 
was  the  greatest  country  on  earth,  and  the  buffalo  was  the 
noblest  as  well  as  the  most  plentiful  of  its  game  animals. 
I  have  indeed  traveled  through  buffaloes  along  the  Ar- 
kansas river  for  two  hundred  miles,  almost  one  contin- 
uous herd,  as  close  together  as  it  is  customary  to  herd 
cattle.  You  might  go  north  or  south  as  far  as  you  pleased 
and  there  would  seem  no  diminuation  of  their  numbers. 
When  they  were  suddenly  frightened  and  stampeded 
they  made  a  roar  like  thunder  and  the  ground  seemed  to 
tremble.  When,  after  nightfall,  they  came  to  the  river, 
particularly  when  it  was  in  flood,  their  immense  numbers, 
in  their  headlong  plung,  would  make  you  think,  by  the 
thunderous  noise,  that  they  had  dashed  all  the  water 
from  the  river.  They  often  went  without  water  one  and 
two  days  in  summer,  and  much  longer  in  winter.  No  one 
had  any  idea  of  their  number. 

General  Sheridan  and  Major  Inman  were  occupying 
my  office  at  Fort  Dodge  one  night,  having  just  made  the 

—74— 


trip  from  Fort  Supply,  and  called  me  in  to  consult  as  to 
how  many  buffaloes  there  were  between  Dodge  and  Sup- 
ply. Taking  a  strip  fifty  miles  east  and  fifty  miles  west, 
they  had  first  made  it  ten  billion.  General  Sheridan  said, 
"That  won't  do."  They  figured  it  again,  and  made  it 
one  billion.  Finally  they  reached  the  conclusion  that 
there  must  be  one  hundred  million;  but  said  they  were 
afraid  to  give  out  these  figures ;  nevertheless  they  believed 
them.  This  vast  herd  moved  slowly  toward  the  north 
when  spring  opened,  and  moved  steadily  back  again  from 
the  far  north  when  the  days  began  to  grow  short  and 
winter  was  setting  in. 

Horace  Greeley  estimated  the  number  of  buffaloes  at 
five  million.  I  agree  with  him,  only  I  think  there  were 
nearly  five  times  that  number.  Mr.  Greeley  passed 
through  them  twice;  I  lived  in  the  heart  of  the  buffalo 
range  for  nearly  fifteen  years;  now  who  do  you  think 
would  be  the  best  judge  of  their  number  ?  I  am  told  that 
some  recent  writer  who  has  studied  the  buffalo  closely, 
has  placed  their  number  at  ninety  millions,  and  I  think 
that  he  is  nearer  right  than  I.  Brick  Bond,  a  resident  of 
Dodge,  an  old,  experienced  hunter,  a  great  shot,  a  man 
of  considerable  intelligence  and  judgment,  and  a  most 
reliable  man  as  to  truthfulness  and  honesty  says  that  he 
killed  fifteen  hundred  buffaloes  in  seven  days,  and  his 
highest  killing  was  two  hundred  and  fifty  in  one  day,  and 
he  had  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  hostile  Indians  all  the 
time.  He  had  fifteen  skinners,  and  he  was  only  one  of 
many  hunters. 

Charles  Rath  and  I  shipped  over  two  hundred  thou- 
sand buffalo  hides  the  first  winter  the  Atchison,  Topeka 
&  Santa  Fe  railroad  reached  Dodge  City,  and  I  think  there 
were  at  least  as  many  more  shipped  from  there,  besides 
two  hundred  cars  of  hind  quarters  and  two  cars  of  buf- 
falo tongues.  Often  have  I  shot  them  from  the  walls  of 
my  corral,  for  my  hogs  to  feed  upon.  Several  times  have 
I  seen  wagon  trains  stop  to  let  the  immense  herds  pass; 

—75— 


and  time  and  time  again,  along  in  August  or  September, 
when  putting  up  hay  in  the  Arkansas,  bottom,  would 
we  have  to  put  out  men,  both  night  and  day,  to  keep  them 
out  of  our  herd  of  work  cattle.  We  usually  hunted  them 
on  horseback;  that  is,  we  would  single  out  one  animal 
in  a  herd,  and  ride  along  by  the  side  of  it,  and  shoot  it 
with  a  six-shooter.  Sometimes  we  would  kill  several 
buffalo  on  a  single  run,  but  very  few  white  men  killed 
them  wantonly. 

There  was  great  antipathy  between  the  hunters  and 
the  Indians;  they  cordially  hated  each  other.  This  hatred 
between  them  was  greatly  on  account  of  their  different 
manner  of  killing  the  buffalo.  The  Indian  hunted  the 
buffalo  altogether  on  horseback,  with  bow  and  arrow,  or 
else  with  a  long  spear  or  lance,  which  they  planted  in  the 
side  of  the  animal  by  riding  up  alongside  of  him.  By 
either  means,  they  had  to  ride  up  close  to  the  buffalo, 
scattering  the  herd  and  running  them  out  of  the  country 
or  off  the  range  entirely.  The  Indians  claimed  they  only 
killed  for  meat  or  robes,  and,  as  soon  as  they  had  suf- 
ficient, they  stopped  and  went  home,  the  herds  of  buffalo 
soon  getting  together  again  and  recovering  from  their 
panic.  Whereas  the  hunters  never  knew  when  to  quit  or 
when  he  had  enough,  and  was  continually  harassing  the 
buffaloes  from  every  side,  never  giving  them  a  chance 
to  recover,  but  keeping  up  a  continual  pop-pop  from  their 
big  guns.  The  Indians  further  claimed  that  the  hunters* 
mode  of  killing  was  not  only  unfair,  but  it  was  cowardly, 
and  downright  murder,  pure  and  simple,  for  they  did  not 
give  the  buffaloes  the  ghost  of  a  show  for  their  lives.  They 
would  get  a  stand  on  a  herd  by  shooting  the  leader,  at 
the  great  distance  of  a  mile,  clear  out  of  scent  and  sound  of 
the  gun,  and  almost  out  of  sight,  and  in  a  short  time, 
would  annihilate  the  entire  bunch,  whilst  the  bewildered 
animals  would  wander  around,  taking  their  deaths,  ignor- 
ant of  what  was  the  source  of  danger  or  how  to  get  away. 

—76— 


Besides,  many  of  them,  wounded,  would  wander  oil, 
out  of  sight  and  reach,  and  were  not  found  until  they 
were  unfit  for  market;  and  the  Indians  claimed  that  the 
noise  of  the  hunters'  guns  and  their  mode  of  killing 
would  soon  drive  the  buffalo  out  of  the  country  or  anni- 
hilate them.  Time  has  proved  that  the  Indians  were 
correct. 

A  band  of  hunters  cared  no  more  for  Indians  than 
Indians  did  for  foot  soldiers,  and,  unless  they  greatly 
outnumbered  the  hunters,  and  then  only  under  the  most 
favorable  circumstances,  the  Indians  would  not  attack 
the  hunters.  They  were  afraid  of  the  hunter's  big  guns, 
his  cool  bravery,  and,  last  but  not  least,  of  his  unerring, 
deadly  aim.  Then,  too,  the  hunter  had  but  little  plunder 
that  was  dear  to  the  Indian,  after  the  fight  was  won — 
only  a  team  of  work  horses,  and  the  redskin  cared  much 
more  for  riding  ponies  than  for  work  animals. 

I  want  to  say  something  of  the  buffalo  and  its  habits. 
The  buffalo-wallow  is  caused  by  the  buffalo  pawing  and 
licking  the  salty  alkali  earth,  and  when  the  sod  is  once 
broken  the  dirt  is  wafted  away  by  the  action  of  the  wind; 
then,  year  after  year,  by  more  pawing  and  licking  and 
rolling  or  wallowing  by  the  animals,  more  wind  wafts  the 
loose  dirt  away,  and  soon  there  is  a  large  hole  in  the 
prairie.  Now  there  is  a  much  more  curious  spectacle  to 
be  seen  every  year  when  the  grass  starts  up;  is  even  plainly 
to  be  seen  yet  when  springtime  arrives.  These  are  rings 
on  the  prairie;  and  there  are  thousands  of  them — yes, 
millions.  From  the  first  of  April  and  until  the  middle  of 
May  was  our  wet  season  on  the  plains;  this  was  always 
the  case;  you  could  depend  upon  it  with  almost  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  sun  and  moon  rising  at  the  proper  time. 
This  was  the  calving  season  of  the  buffalo;  the  buffalo, 
not  like  domestic  cattle,  only  rutted  one  month,  neither 
more  nor  less,  then  it  was  all  over.  I  want  to  interpolate 
a  statement  here,  that  no  man  living  I  ever  heard  of  or 
saw  witnessed  the  act  of  copulation  by  the  buffalo.  It  was 

—77— 


all  done  after  night.  Then  was  the  only  time  that  the 
buffalo  made  any  noise  or  fuss;  but  at  this  season  they 
would  keep  up  a  low  roaring  sound  all  night,  and,  as  a 
consequence,  the  cows  all  calved  in  a  month.  At  that  time 
there  were  a  great  many  gray  wolves  in  the  country  as 
well  as  the  little  coyote.  While  the  cows  were  in  labor, 
the  bulls  kept  guard  to  drive  off  the  wolves,  and,  in  their 
beat,  made  the  rings  referred  to.  I  have  had  people  argue 
to  me  that  they  were  caused  by  lightning  striking  the 
earth;  but  it  is  certainly  strange  that  lightning  should  only 
strike  at  these  breeding  places  and  nowhere  else.  Others 
would  argue  that  the  Indians  had  their  war  dances  there, 
which  is  just  about  as  absurd  a  statement  as  the  other. 
Others  even  say  that  two  bulls  get  their  heads  together  in 
battle  and  push  each  other  round  and  round  in  a  ring 
until  a  circle  is  formed.  Buffaloes  live  to  a  great  age.  I 
have  heard  it  from  best  authority  that  some  of  them  live 
to  be  seventy-five  or  eighty  years  old,  and  it  is  quite  com- 
mon for  them  to  live  thirty  or  forty  years;  in  fact,  I  think 
I  have  seen  many  a  bull's  head  that  I  thought  to  be  over 
thirty  years  old.  After  a  storm,  when  we  would  go  in 
search  of  our  lost  cattle,  we  could  tell  the  buffalo  tracks 
from  our  cattle  tracks  because  the  buffalo  tracks  would 
be  going  against  the  storm  every  time,  while  our  domestic 
cattle  would  invariably  go  with  it.  You  see  the  buffalo 
is  much  more  thinly  clad  behind  than  in  front;  nearly 
all  of  his  coat  is  on  his  head,  shoulders  and  hump,  and, 
when  our  cattle  would  turn  tail,  the  buffalo  would  na- 
turally face  the  storm. 

In  another  paragraph,  mention  has  been  made  of  the 
terrific  noise  and  quaking  of  ground,  resulting  from  a 
stampeding  herd  of  buffaloes.  I  will  now  remind  the 
reader  of  my  exciting  adventure  with  buffaloes,  referred 
to  in  another  chapter,  and  which  I  promised  to  relate.  It 
will  be  remembered  that,  after  a  forced  march  in  flight 
from  Indians,  I  was  allowing  my  horse  and  cattle  to  rest 
and  graze  a  few  hours,  before  proceeding  on  our  way  to 

—78— 


the  ranch  at  Aubrey.  While  waiting  for  the  animals,  and 
for  greater  safety  to  myself  away  from  them,  I  ascended 
a  dry  sand  creek  a  couple  of  miles,  where  the  banks  rose 
very  steeply  to  the  height  of  eighteen  or  twenty  feet,  and 
were  sharply  cut  up  by  the  narrow  trails  made  by  the 
buffalo. 

The  whole  face  of  the  earth  was  covered  with  buf- 
falo; they  were  grazing  slowly  toward  the  river.  As  it 
was  a  warm  day,  and  getting  on  in  the  afternoon,  all  at 
once  they  became  frightened  at  something  and  stampeded 
pell  mell  toward  the  very  spot  where  I  was.  I  quickly  ran 
into  one  of  the  precipitous  little  paths  and  up  on  the 
prairie  to  see  what  had  scared  them.  They  were  fairly 
making  the  ground  tremble,  as  in  their  mighty  multitude 
they  came  on  running  at  full  speed;  the  sound  of  their 
hoofs  resembled  thunder,  only  a  continuous  peal.  It  ap- 
peared to  me  that  they  must  sweep  everything  in  their 
path,  and  for  my  own  preservation  I  ran  under  the  banks; 
but  on  they  came  like  a  tornado,  with  one  old  bull  in 
the  lead.  He  held  up  a  second  to  descend  the  deep,  nar- 
row trail,  and  when  he  got  half  way  down  the  bank  I  let 
him  have  it — I  was  only  a  few  steps  from  him — and  over 
he  tumbled.  I  don't  know  why  I  killed  him — out  of  pure 
wantonness,  I  expect;  or  perhaps  I  thought  it  would  fright- 
en the  others  back;  not  so,  however;  they  only  quickened 
their  pace  over  the  dead  bull,  and  others  fell  over  them. 
The  top  of  the  bank  was  actually  swarming  with  them; 
they  leaped,  pitched  and  rolled  down.  I  crouched  as 
close  to  the  bank  as  possible,  but  numbers  of  them  just 
grazed  my  head,  knocking  the  sand  and  gravel  in  great 
streams  down  my  neck;  indeed,  I  was  half  buried  before 
the  last  one  had  passed.  The  old  bull  was  the  last  buffalo 
I  ever  shot  wantonly,  excepting  once  from  an  ambulance, 
to  please  a  distinguished  Englishman  who  had  never  seen 
one  killed.  Then  I  did  it  only  after  his  hard  persuasion. 

Jack  Bridges,  a  scout  of  some  fame  in  eastern  Kansas 

during  the  war,  said  to  me  one  day:  "I  see  you  always 

—79— 


hunt  buffaloes  on  horseback.  If  you  will  take  a  needle- 
gun  (that  was  an  improved  Springfield)  and  go  with  me, 
you  will  never  hunt  on  horseback  again."  And  I  never 
did.  We  usually  hunted  the  calves  only  in  the  fall  and 
winter,  as  all  we  cared  for  was  the  meat.  It  was  wonder- 
ful to  see  how  strong  the  mother's  instinct  was  to  protect 
her  young.  The  calf  would  invariably  run  on  the  opposite 
side  of  its  mother.  One  day  I  had  taken  a  knee  rest,  and 
waited  and  waited  for  the  calf  to  run  ahead  of  its  mother 
as  they  ascended  a  hill  together.  At  last  I  saw  a  dark  spot 
just  ahead  of  the  cow's  breast  and  fired,  killing  both  cow 
and  calf,  breaking  the  cow's  neck  as  he  had  it  distended 
ascending  the  hill,  and  shooting  the  calf  dead,  as  I  sup- 
posed. Just  then  a  soldier  came  along  and  asked  permis- 
sion to  have  their  tongues.  We  told  him  yes.  On  coming 
back  with  a  wagon,  picking  up  the  dead  calves,  we  found 
this  one  gone.  Bridges  said  to  me:  "See,  the  d —  soldier 
has  stolen  the  calf."  We  saw  the  soldier  soon  after  com- 
ing to  us.  He  said:  "After  I  cut  the  tongue  out  of  the 
calf,  he  got  up  and  ran  over  the  hill  a  quarter  of  a  mile." 
Sure  enough,  there  he  lay  dead,  with  his  tongue  cut  out. 
Two  other  soldiers  verified  this  one's  story. 

Notwithstanding  this  abundance  of  game  and  the 
general  pursuit  of  it,  for  a  white  man  to  go  south  of  the 
Arkansas  River  to  hunt  was  considered  suicidal  until 
after  1870.  The  south  side  of  the  Arkansas  was  considered 
sacred  to  the  Indians,  or  at  least  this  was  their  view  of  it, 
and  no  one  ventured  across  the  Arkansas  except  the  old 
traders,  unless  under  a  good  escort  of  soldiers.  The  more 
daring  of  the  hunters  would  take  desperate  chances  to 
hunt  pelts  and  furs  in  winter,  south  of  the  river,  but  they 
were  very  few,  and  some  of  them  never  returned,  and 
they  would  go  singly,  never  more  than  two  together.  It 
was  considered  an  unknown  quantity,  and  so  it  was.  Rich 
in  furs  and  pelts,  game  everywhere,  no  wonder  it  was 
watched  by  the  Indians  with  such  jealous  care.  With 
longing  eyes  the  daring  hunters  would  gaze  across ;  it  was 

—80— 


forbidden  fruit,  and  their  curiosity  and  hankering  would 
be  increased  all  the  more  for  this  reason.  Curly  Walker 
and  Jack  Pratt  were  two  who  ventured  down  into  that 
country  every  winter,  sometimes  in  partnership,  but  most 
generally  alone,  with  a  strong  light  wagon,  two  good 
draft  horses,  and  a  good  and  tried  saddler.  They  always 
returned  loaded  to  the  brim  with  the  richest  furs,  beaver, 
otter,  big  grey  wolves,  and  sometimes  a  silver  fox.  The 
little  coyote  was  too  insignificant,  and  only  caught  to 
make  up  the  load.  These  men  made  their  headquarters 
at  Dodge.  They  traded  with  the  writer,  and  I  seldom  paid 
them  less  than  six  dollars  apiece  for  their  grey  wolf  skins, 
and  their  load  never  netted  them  less  than  a  thousand 
dollars  and  sometimes  double  that  amount. 

A  game  animal  of  the  utmost  practical  value  was  the 
wild  horse,  which  was  hunted  in  a  manner  very  different 
from  that  in  which  other  game  was  hunted,  and  which 
was  attended  by  peculiar  difficulties  and  dangers.  In  the 
summer  of  1878,  Mr.  J.  T.  Elliott,  of  Dodge  City,  in 
company  with  I.  M.  Henderson  and  F.  C.  Foxworthy, 
started  in  pursuit  of  wild  horses.  An  account  of  their  ex- 
perience, as  related  at  the  time,  runs  as  follows: 

"They  struck  a  band  of  about  two  hundred  head  of 
the  finest  wild  horses  they  ever  saw.  After  following 
them  on  horseback  and  afoot  for  nine  days  and  nights, 
they  finally  succeeded  in  corralling  forty-eight  head. 
They  were  thirty-six  hours  without  water,  and  came  near 
perishing  for  want  of  it.  Finally  the  herd  struck  the 
Arkansas  River,  just  at  the  time  when  they  were  ready 
to  give  up  further  pursuit,  as  they  felt  they  could  go  no 
farther  and  must  surely  perish  for  want  of  water.  New 
courage  overtook  them,  however,  and  they  stuck  to  their 
little  band  until  the  river  was  reached.  They  are  holding 
these  horses  at  Lakin.  Mr.  Elliott  was  in  Dodge  a  few 
days  ago,  purchasing  supplies  for  another  trip  after  wild 
horses." 

Wild  horses  were  numerous  on  the  plains.    These 

—81— 


horses  were  the  progeny  of  abandoned  horses  by  plains- 
men, and  they  were  harmful  to  range  stock.  The  capture 
of  the  stallions  was  necessary,  so  as  to  corral  and  capture 
the  mare  herds.  The  increase  of  the  wild  bands  was 
made,  yearly,  by  the  escape  of  horses  from  the  stock  herds. 
The  wild  stallions  could  not  be  secured  by  a  cowboy  on 
horse-back.  A  winter's  campaign  was  necessary  to  ac- 
complish the  capture  of  the  wild  horses.  The  stallions 
were  shot,  by  getting  in  close  range  by  the  cowboy,  from 
time  to  time,  and  the  mares  were  secured  alive. 

A  horse  belonging  to  a  cattleman  by  the  name  of  E. 
Clemence,  was  being  saddled  with  a  cowman's  saddle, 
made  by  R.  E.  Rice,  when  it  broke  away  from  its  owner, 
and  was  not  seen  until  two  years  afterwards,  when  it  was 
discovered  with  a  drove  of  wild  horses,  the  saddle  still 
being  in  proper  position  on  the  back  of  the  horse.  The 
owner  never  recovered  the  animal. 

Among  the  many  things  that  young  Dodge  City  took 
great  pride  in  and  excelled  in,  was  one  pertaining  to  her 
great  game  resources  and  the  chase,  and  that  was  her 
dogs.  They  were  known  far  and  wide;  every  one  was 
singing  the  praises  of  Dodge  City's  dogs,  and  justly,  too, 
for  they  were  the  best  bred  of  the  kind  in  the  world.  I 
mean  the  pure-bred  greyhound,  and  there  were  several 
large  packs  of  these  hounds.  I  expect  the  greatest  pack  and 
the  largest  was  one  owned  by  Mayor  James  H.  Kelly, 
and,  for  that  reason  the  "gang"  christened  him  "Dog" 
Kelly. 

The  first  winter  of  Dodge's  existence  there  came  a 
deep  snow,  the  latter  part  of  November,  which  drove 
the  antelope  off  the  hills  into  the  river  bottom,  where 
they  bunched  up  by  the  thousands.  Kelly  started  out, 
the  morning  after  the  storm,  with  a  lot  of  sports  and  a 
big  pack  of  greyhounds,  and  just  a  half  mile  west  of 
Dodge  they  struck  a  big  band  of  antelope,  and  the  dogs 
soon  caught  all  they  could  carry  home.  The  snow  was 
deep  and  the  morning  turned  out  to  be  very  warm.  They 

—82— 


were  all  true  sports  and  did  not  wish  to  kill  for  useless 
slaughter,  and  the  dogs  were  warm  and  tired,  so  they 
called  them  off  and  started  back  to  town.  When  they 
got  in,  Kelly  missed  a  favorite  hound  by  the  name  of  Jim, 
only  a  pup  six  months  old,  but  a  monster.  He  was  extra- 
ordinarily large  for  his  age,  big  boned  and  well  muscled, 
and  gave  promise  of  making  a  fine  animal  when  he  got 
of  age.  So  back  went  Kelly  after  Jim-dog.  A  mile  or  two 
from  where  they  quit  the  hunt,  he  found  a  dead  antelope; 
a  few  miles  farther  along  the  Santa  Fe  trail,  he  found 
another;  and  on  he  went,  finding  dead  antelope  until  he 
got  to  the  foot  of  Nine-mile  Ridge,  twenty  miles  west  of 
Dodge  City.  There  he  found  Jim-dog  lying  by  the  side  of 
his  last  kill.  I  know  Kelly  told  me  there  were  at  least  a 
dozen  antelope  killed  by  this  same  dog  in  the  twenty- 
mile  run.  You  see,  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail  ran  along  the 
river,  and  the  wind  had  swept  the  snow,  to  a  great 
measure,  out  of  the  trail,  and  the  herd  of  antelope  they 
started  that  morning  kept  the  trail  because  it  was  easier 
traveling  for  them.  The  dog  kept  after  them,  and  when 
he  would  kill  one,  would  leave  it  and  go  after  the  others, 
until  he  was  completely  used  up  and  worn  out.  Kelly 
brought  him  home  in  front  of  his  saddle,  and  no  money 
could  buy  Jim  after  this  exploit. 

Many  times  afterwards,  when  the  dog  got  age,  and 
they  would  be  on  a  hunt  twenty  or  thirty  miles  away, 
the  other  dogs  would  all  quit  and  the  hunters  return 
home,  when  Jim-dog  would  be  missing,  sometimes  it 
would  be  two  or  three  days  before  his  return,  and  he 
would  eventually  stagger  in  all  tired  out,  as  lank  as  a 
shad,  and  it  would  be  days  before  he  would  notice  any- 
thing but  water  and  food,  he  would  be  so  completely  done 
up  and  worn  out.  We  would  kid  Kelly  by  saying,  "Yim. 
has  quit."  "Not  until  the  antelope  does,"  would  be  his 
reply. 

In  this   connection,   a   story  entitled,   "A   Race   to 

Death,"  clipped  from  the  "Dodge  City  Times,"  of  Sep- 

—83— 


tember  15, 1877,  is  of  decided  interest.  It  seems  there  was 
great  rivalry  between  Lieutenant  Gardener,  of  Fort 
Dodge,  and  Mr.  James  Kelly,  as  to  who  had  the  best  pack 
of  hounds.  The  story  continues: 

"The  dogs  of  both  of  these  gentlemen  are  known  to 
be  the  best  in  the  land  and  were  eager  for  the  contest,  so 
they  made  up  a  race,  which,  from  its  tragic  termination, 
will  not  soon  be  forgotten.  On  the  morning  of  the  14th, 
together  with  a  large  party  of  friends  and  sports,  they 
crossed  the  Arkansas  four  miles  from  Dodge,  in  the  lower 
hills  that  skirt  the  river,  and  started  two  fine  antelope. 
Then  followed  a  race  after  the  flying  dogs  and  antelope, 
that  for  excitement  and  reckless  enjoyment  makes  the 
finest  sport  in  the  world.  The  antelope,  clearing  away 
over  the  prairie  with  flying  feet,  almost  seemed  for  awhile 
to  outdo  the  sleek  graceful  hounds,  who,  with  ears  laid 
low  and  tails  straight  out  and  active  muscles,  dashed  after 
the  beautiful  fugitives.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  the  ante- 
lope, the  hounds,  and  the  huntsmen.  A  mile  and  a  half 
of  breakneck  speed  told  the  story,  and  just  as  that  wonder 
of  modern  speed  and  ugliness.  Yclept,  Old  Calamity  (this 
was  the  name  of  a  famous  hunter),  carried  this  deponent 
over  the  brow  of  a  hill,  the  hounds  brought  the  tired 
creatures  to  the  ground.  It  was  a  victory  dearly  won,  and 
the  dead  antelope  were  soon  to  be  followed  by  their  cap- 
tors, in  a  chase  through  animal  paradise. 

"The  last  of  the  huntsmen  had  hardly  reached  the 
finish  when  it  became  apparent  that  the  faithful  dogs  had 
given  their  lives  for  the  game.  Unable  to  stand,  they  were 
taken  upon  the  saddles  before  the  hunters  and  hurriedly 
carried  toward  the  river,  three  miles  away.  Poor  Fly,  a 
most  beautiful  animal,  never  reached  the  water.  The 
others  were  taken  to  the  river,  bled,  and  rubbed,  but  to  no 
purpose.  Rowdy  soon  followed  Fly,  and,  to  close  the  scene, 
Kate,  an  elegant  imported  hound  of  Lieutenant  Gardener 
— both  animals,  for  grace,  beauty  and  speed,  probably 
have  no  peers  in  western  Kansas — paid  the  debt  of  nature. 

—84— 


The  best  dogs  die  first,  and  the  latter  two  were  very  king 
and  queen.  It  is  not  everybody  that  enjoys  this  kind  of 
sport,  but,  once  a  participant,  there  are  but  few  who  will 
not  admire  the  graceful  animals,  and,  after  so  noble  an 
effort,  be  sorry  to  see  them  die."  The  loss  of  dogs  was 
great  in  hot  weather  hunts.  Kelly  never  sold  a  dog  but 
would  occasionally  give  one  away  to  a  dear  friend,  and, 
when  parties  would  come  to  Dodge  and  bring  their  dogs 
for  a  grand  hunt,  Kelly  would  often  buy  one,  no  matter 
what  the  price.  He  paid  one  hundred  dollars  for  a  dog, 
and  often  fifty  dollars,  and  I  have  known  him  to  pay  two 
hundred  dollars  when  he  saw  an  extra  good  one.  A  few 
days  after  the  race.  Lieutenant  Gardener  lost  two  more 
of  his  dogs.  One  was  his  favorite  hound,  Omar,  who  died 
of  congestion  of  the  lungs,  brought  about  by,  the  last 
day's  sport.  Omar  had  an  unblemished  pedigree.  I 
could  mention  a  great  many  more  exciting  races  if  I  had 
the  space. 


—85— 


Chapter  V. 

Indian  Life  of  the  Plains 

T  TPON  the  loss  of  our  ranch  (at  Cimarron),  Mr.  An- 
^  thony  and  I  thought  we  would  take  our  chances 
again,  and  burn  lime  on  the  Buckner,  or  middle  branch 
of  the  Pawnee,  about  thirty  miles  north  of  Fort  Dodge. 
We  were  well  aware  that  the  government  could  not 
furnish  us  with  a  guard.  But  the  Indians  were  now  sup- 
posed to  be  peaceable  and  not  on  the  warpath.  They  had 
only  captured  a  few  trains,  burnt  a  number  of  ranches, 
and  murdered  small  parties  of  defenseless  emigrants  on 
the  trail;  still  they  were  not  considered  at  war.  All  the 
whites  were  forbidden  to  kill  or  molest  an  Indian  in  any 
manner,  although  it  was  perfectly  legitimate  for  them 
to  murder  us. 

Under  such  conditions  we  started  to  work  to  fill  our 
public  lime  contracts;  we  were  receiving  big  prices  for  it, 
however,  comparable  to  the  supposed  risk,  getting  three 
or  four  dollars  a  bushel.  Our  positive  instructions  from 
the  commandant  at  Fort  Dodge  were:  "Under  no  circum- 
stances, no  matter  how  aggravated,  you  must  not  kill  an 
Indian  first;  let  them  kill  you;  then  it  will  be  time  enough 
to  retaliate." 

Late  one  night,  the  quartermaster.  Lieutenant  Bas- 
sett,  and  his  chief  clerk  rode  into  our  camp,  and  told  us 
that  the  Indians  were  killing  everybody  over  in  the 
Smoky  Hill  country.  They  had  traveled  all  night,  and 
laid  by  during  the  day,  as  they  were  unable  to  get  any 
escort,  all  the  troops  being  out  in  the  field  after  savages. 
They  left  for  Fort  Dodge  early  the  next  morning,  warning 
us  to  take  the  utmost  precaution  against  surprise  and  at- 
tack. After  the  departure  of  Lieutenant  Bassett  and  his 
clerk,  Jim  Wrighting,  an  old  wagon  boss,  and  I  started 
for  a  load  of  wood.   We  had  to  go  about  four  miles  down 

—86— 


the  creek  for  it,  but  still  in  plain  view  of  our  camp.  Sud- 
denly we  saw  a  dozen  bucks,  each  with  a  led  horse,  rise 
over  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  creek  was  between  us,  and 
we  knew  it  was  exceedingly  boggy;  it  could  only  be 
crossed  at  certain  places;  if  these  places  were  missed,  it 
would  mire  a  saddle-blanket.  I  said  to  Jim:  "What  shall 
we  do?  There  are  some  of  the  very  lads  who  have  been 
murdering  the  women  and  children  over  on  the  other 
river;  shall  we  try  to  make  it  back  to  camp,  or  go  right 
ahead,  and  pretend  that  we  don't  see  them,  or  don't  care 
for  them  if  we  do  see  them?"  He  replied:  "We  will  take 
our  chances,  and  go  ahead.  I  hate  to  run,  and  have  the 
boys  laugh  at  us."  "Here's  with  you,"  I  answered. 

We  had  only  revolvers  with  us,  and  away  they  came 
lickety  brindle.  I  thought:  "Laddie  bucks,  you  are  tender- 
feet,  or  young  ones,  or  you  would  not  come  tearing  down 
the  hill  that  way.  You  don't  know  the  creek  like  your 
forefathers,  and  if  you  keep  at  that  gait,  and  don't  tumble 
into  a  mire-pit  up  to  your  necks,  never  to  get  out  again, 
then  you  can  call  me  a  horse  thief.  Then  Jim  Wrighting 
and  I  will  go  down  and  chop  off  your  heads  just  even  up 
with  where  the  mire  strikes  them,  as  did  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer."  They  left  their  led  horses  back  on  the  hill  with 
two  guards,  so  they  were  free  to  ride  at  will.  But  when 
they  arrived  at  the  creek,  they  stopped  short  with  a  little 
jerk-up,  and  I  think  one  or  two  of  them — those  in  the 
lead — got  a  taste,  and  the  others  had  to  pull  them  out. 
Now  they  began  to  slowly  and  carefully  hunt  a  crossing, 
which  was  difficult  to  find.  Then  they  tried  other  tactics ; 
they  rode  along  and  commenced  yelling  and  gesticulating, 
motioning  for  us  to  stop,  but  our  eyesight  was  not  very 
good  in  that  direction,  and  then  we  lost  them  altogether. 
I  said:  "Jim,  these  fellows  have  given  us  up,  or  else  have 
tumbled  into  one  of  these  mire  holes,  and  we  will  have  a 
time  chopping  their  heads  off  when  we  go  back."  Jim 
answered :  "No,  them  'ere  fellows  was  born  on  the  prairie, 

and  is  as  true  to  instinct  as  a  buzzard  is  to  scent  carrion. 

—87-— 


They  are  sure  to  find  a  crossing,  and  be  down  on  us  in  a 
holy  minute,  like  a  hawk  on  a  chicken,  and  we  are 
bound  to  have  fun."  You  see  I  was  beginning  to  get 
very  ticklish  myself — scared  nearly  to  death — but  did  not 
want  to  let  on  for  fear  Jim  would  get  scared  too.  I  knew 
I  must  try  to  keep  my  courage  up  by  keeping  up  his,  and 
I  said  to  him:  "J™>  maybe  they  are  only  youngsters,  and 
don't  know  how  to  shoot;  they  appear  to  be  by  the  way 
they  charged  the  creek."  Jim  replied:  "Youngsters! 
nothing;  them  is  the  worst  kind."  Said  I:  "Jim,  perhaps 
they  only  want  to  pay  us  a  friendly  visit,  and  want  us  to 
go  to  camp  with  them  and  help  eat  their  grub;  what  do 
you  think?"  Jim  answered:  "More  than  likely  they  will 
take  us  into  camp,  but  I  will  be  at  the  taking." 

This  was  just  what  I  wanted.  Jim's  metal  had  "riz," 
and  I  knew  he  was  ready  to  fight  a  stack  of  bobtailed 
wildcats.  As  the  savages  reappeared,  I  turned  to  Jim  and 
said:  "Here  they  come."  "I  knowed  it,"  he  replied.  "Don't 
waste  any  ammunition;  we  have  got  twelve  loads  apiece, 
and  there  are  only  eight  of  them."  Four  of  their  number 
had  remained  in  the  rear  to  guard  the  led  horses,  and 
the  eight  had  only  delayed  to  find  a  crossing;  but  they 
trimmed  themselves  up  besides,  to  be  ready  for  any 
emergency.  Four  of  them  now  dashed  ahead,  two  to  the 
right  of  us  and  two  to  the  left,  making  a  detour  wide 
enough  to  keep  out  of  range  of  our  pistols,  which  they 
could  plainly  see  in  our  hands.  Then  the  first  four  came 
in,  while  the  others  closed  up  behind.  We  kept  right  on, 
however,  until  they  finally  surrounded  us,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  stop.  They  held  their  six-shooters  in  front  of 
them,  but  we  had  a  decided  advantage  of  them,  for  we 
were  in  a  thick,  heavy  wagon  box.  They  wanted  to  know 
where  the  main  big  camp  of  the  Indians  was.  We  told 
them  that  they  had  been  camped  at  the  Cimarron  cross- 
ing, but  the  soldiers  had  got  after  them  and  they  had  gone 
south.   Then  we  pointed  out  our  tents — we  had  five  of 

them  and  they  made  quite  a  respectable  figure  at  a  dis- 

—88— 


tance — and  told  them  it  was  the  soldiers'  camp.  They 
evidently  did  not  believe  us,  for  they  v^ent  over  to  the 
camp,  bound  the  cook  securely,  v^hom  they  found  asleep 
(why  they  did  not  kill  him  is  a  mystery),  cut  open  every 
valise  and  took  several  revolvers  from  our  tenderfeet,  who 
had  left  them  in  their  grips  instead  of  strapping  them  on 
their  persons.  They  carried  off  all  the  ammunition  they 
could  find,  all  the  horses,  mules,  ropes,  and  everything 
else  that  seized  their  fancy.  Mr.  Anthony  and  the  re- 
mainder of  our  men  were  quarrying  rock  up  in  the  bluffs, 
and  had  their  rifles  with  them. 

These  young  bucks  were  certainly  of  those  who  had 
been  concerned  in  the  murder  on  the  other  river,  for  we 
noticed  dry  blood  on  their  hands  and  clothing,  and,  as 
there  was  not  an  antelope  or  buffalo  in  the  country  then, 
it  could  not  have  been  the  blood  of  game  in  which  they 
were  ensanguined.  They  had  evidently  strayed  away 
from  the  main  band  and  were  very  anxious  to  find  them, 
or  get  back  south  of  the  Arkansas  River,  where  they  were 
better  acquainted  with  the  country.  They  were  a  little  out 
of  their  regular  beat  where  they  now  found  themselves, 
and  that  fact  undoubtedly  deterred  them  from  commit- 
ting further  acts  of  deviltry. 

I  have  seen  with  my  glass  from  the  lookout  on  top 
of  my  building  at  the  ranch  (Cimarron)  two  hundred  or 
three  hundred  wagons  and  two  thousand  head  of  mules 
and  oxen,  all  waiting  for  the  river  to  go  down,  so  that 
they  could  cross;  and  I  have  watched  a  band  of  Indians 
charge  upon  them  like  an  avalanche,  kill  the  poor,  panic- 
stricken  Mexican  drivers  as  easily  and  unmercifully  as  a 
bunch  of  hungry  wolves  would  destroy  a  flock  of  sheep. 
Then  the  savages  would  jump  off  their  horses  long 
enough  to  tear  the  reeking  scalps  from  their  victims'  heads 
and  dash  away  after  fresh  prey.  They,  of  course,  drove 
off  many  of  the  horses  and  cattle.  Sometimes  the  owners 
would  succeed  in  getting  the  majority  of  their  stock  into 
the  corrals,  and  for  days  and  weeks  afterward  the  miser- 

—89— 


able  mutiliated  oxen  would  struggle  back  to  the  river  for 
water,  some  with  their  tails  cut  off  close,  some  with  ears 
gone,  some  with  great  strips  of  hide  stripped  from  their 
bodies,  others  with  arrows  sticking  out  of  them,  the  cruel 
shafts  sunk  deep  into  their  paunches  half  way  up  to  the 
feathers.  The  Indians  did  not  care  anything  for  the  cattle 
as  long  as  there  was  plenty  of  buffalo;  they  mutilated  the 
poor  creatures  to  show  their  damnable  meanness.  The 
horses,  of  course,  they  valued. 

Once,  while  a  train  of  wagons  was  waiting  to  cross, 
three  or  four  of  them  having  already  made  the  passage, 
leaving  the  Mexican  drivers  on  this  side  with  the  wagons 
loaded  with  loose  wool,  a  lot  of  Indians  swooped  down 
upon  them.  When  the  men  saw  the  savages,  the  poor  de- 
fenseless wretches  made  for  their  wagons  and  concealed 
themselves  under  the  wool,  but  the  Indians  followed  them 
in  and  killed  the  last  one  with  an  old  camp  ax  belonging 
to  the  train,  afterwards  mutilating  their  bodies  in  their 
usual  barbarous  manner. 

Satank  was  chief  of  the  Kiowas  when  I  first  knew 
him,  but  was  deposed  because  he  ran  away  from  camp 
and  left  the  women  and  children.  Satanta  took  his  place. 
The  Indians  were  camped  in  a  large  bottom  called 
Cheyenne  bottom,  about  eight  miles  north  of  old  Fort 
Zarah,  and  the  same  distance  from  where  the  town  of 
Great  Bend  now  is.  All  of  the  bucks  were  out  on  a  hunt, 
or  on  the  warpath  excepting  Satank.  The  soldiers  from 
Fort  Larned  suddenly  surprised  them  in  their  camp,  when 
Satank  jumped  on  his  pony  and  skipped.  He  certainly 
would  have  been  killed  or  captured  had  he  remained;  so 
Satank,  deeming  discretion  the  better  part  of  valor,  lit 
out.  His  tribe,  however,  claims  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
have  died  at  his  post  in  defense  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, as  they  had  left  him  back  for  that  purpose,  to  guard 
the  camp. 

Satanta  was  considered  the  worst  Indian  on  the 
plains,  and  for  a  long  time  the  most  dreaded.   He  was 

—90— 


war-chief  of  the  Kiowas.  There  were  many  stories  afloat 
about  his  doings  at  Fort  Dodge,  some  of  which  are  true, 
others  not.  In  1866  a  committee  was  sent  from  Washing- 
ton to  inquire  into  the  causes  of  the  continued  warfare  on 
the  border,  and  what  the  grievances  of  the  Indians  were. 
Of  course  Satanta  was  sent  for  and  asked  to  talk  his  mind 
freely.  He  was  very  pathetic.  He  had  "no  desire  to  kill 
the  white  people,  but  they  ruthlessly  killed  off  the  buffalo, 
and  let  their  carcasses  rot  on  the  prairie,  while  the  Indian 
only  killed  from  necessity.  The  whites  had  put  out  fires 
on  the  prairie  and  destroyed  the  grass,  which  caused  their 
ponies  to  die  of  starvation,  as  well  as  the  buffalo.  They 
cut  down  and  destroyed  the  timber  and  made  large  fires 
of  it,  while  the  Indian  was  satisfied  to  cook  his  'chuck' 
with  a  few  dry  limbs.  Only  the  other  day,"  continued  he, 
"I  picked  up  a  little  switch  in  the  road  and  it  made  my 
heart  bleed  to  think  that  small  limb  so  ruthlessly  torn  up 
and  thoughtlessly  destroyed  by  the  white  man  would 
have  in  the  course  of  time  become  a  grand  tree,  for  the 
use  and  benefit  of  my  children  and  my  grandchildren." 
After  the  powwow,  and  when  he  had  a  few  drinks  of 
red  liquor  in  him,  he  showed  his  real  nature,  and  said 
to  the  interpreter:  "Now,  didn't  I  give  it  to  those  white 
men  in  good  style?  The  switch  I  saw  in  the  road  made 
my  heart  glad  instead  of  sad,  for  I  knew  there  was  a 
tenderfoot  ahead,  because  an  old  plainsman  never  would 
have  anything  but  a  quirt  or  a  good  pair  of  spurs.  I  said, 
*Come  on,  boys;  we  have  got  him;'  and  we  came  in  sight 
of  him,  pressing  him  closely  on  the  dead  run;  he  threw 
his  gun  away  and  held  tight  onto  his  hat,  for  fear  he 
might  lose  it." 

Another  time,  when  Satanta  had  remained  at  the  fort 
for  a  long  time  and  had  worn  out  his  welcome,  so  that  no 
one  would  give  him  anything  to  drink,  he  went  up  to  the 
quarters  of  his  friend.  Bill  Bennett,  the  stage  agent,  and 
begged  him  for  liquor.  Bill  was  mixing  a  bottle  of  medi- 
cine to  drench  a  sick  mule,  and  the  moment  he  set  the 

—91-— 


bottle  down  to  do  something  else  Satanta  picked  it  up  and 
drank  most  of  its  contents  before  stopping.  Of  course  it 
made  the  savage  dreadfully  sick,  as  well  as  angry.  He 
then  went  up  to  a  certain  officer's  quarters  and  again 
begged  there  for  liquor,  to  cure  him  of  the  effects  of  the 
previous  dose,  but  the  officer  refused.  Still  Satanta  per- 
sisted; he  would  not  leave;  and  after  awhile  the  officer 
went  to  his  closet  and  took  a  swallow  of  balsam  copaiba, 
placing  the  bottle  back.  Satanta  watched  his  opportunity 
and,  as  soon  as  the  officer  left  the  room,  seized  the  bottle 
and  drank  its  contents.  That,  of  course,  was  a  worse  dose 
than  the  horse  medicine,  and  the  next  day  the  wily 
Satanta  called  his  people  together,  crossed  the  Arkansas, 
and  went  south.  Before  leaving,  however,  he  burnt  all 
of  Mr.  Coryell's  hay,  which  was  stacked  opposite  the  fort. 
He  then  continued  on  to  Crooked  creek,  where  he  killed 
three  wood-choppers,  all  of  which  he  said  he  did  in  re- 
venge for  trying  to  poison  him  twice  at  Fort  Dodge. 

In  the  fall  the  Indians  would  come  in,  make  a  treaty, 
and  draw  rations,  and  break  the  treaty  as  soon  as  the  grass 
was  green  in  the  spring.  I  have  seen  the  Arkansas  bot- 
tom for  miles  above  and  miles  below  Fort  Dodge  covered 
with  Indians'  tepees  and  ponies — thousands  of  the  former 
and  many  thousands  of  the  latter — the  Indians  all  draw- 
ing rations,  and  the  whole  country  full  of  game,  black 
with  buffalo  and  large  bands  of  antelope,  with  deer  on 
the  islands  and  in  the  brush,  and  not  a  few  elk  in  the 
breaks  and  rough  country. 

I  think  it  was  in  1867  our  government  got  a  very 
liberal  streak,  and  sent  the  Indians  thousands  of  sacks  of 
flour,  pantaloons  in  abundance,  and  a  big  lot  of  stiff-rim 
hats,  bound  around  the  edge  with  tin  or  German  silver, 
to  hold  the  rim  in  shape.  They  also  sent  them  a  few 
light-running  ambulances.  The  savages,  to  show  their 
appreciation  of  these  magnanimous  gifts  from  the  "Great 
Father,"  threw  the  flour  on  the  prairie  in  order  to  get  the 
sacks  for  breech-clouts.    They  cut  out  the  seats  of  the 

—92— 


pantaloons,  as  they  said  an  Indian's  posterior  was  too 
warm  anyhow;  they  cut  the  crown  off  the  hats  and  used 
them  as  playthings,  shying  them  in  the  air  like  a  white 
boy  does  a  flat  stone,  to  see  them  sail  away.  The  ambu- 
lances they  were  very  proud  of.  The  government  neglect- 
ed to  send  any  harness  with  them,  so  the  Indians  manu- 
factured their  own.  They  did  not  understand  anything 
about  lines,  and,  instead,  they  drove  with  a  quirt  or  short 
whip;  when  the  near  horse  would  go  too  much  gee, 
they  whipped  up  the  off  horse,  and  when  he  would  go 
too  much  haw,  they  pounded  away  at  the  near  horse 
again,  and  vice  versa,  all  the  time.  This  unique  manner 
of  driving  kept  the  poor  animals  in  a  dead  run  most  of 
the  time.  I  remember  taking  a  ride  with  Little  Raven, 
chief  of  the  Arapahoes.  At  first  we  started  off  gently; 
but  the  ponies  did  not  go  straight,  so  he  kept  tapping 
them,  now  the  off  horse,  then  the  near,  until  finally  he 
got  them  on  a  rapid  gallop,  and  I  thought,  at  one  time, 
that  my  head  would  surely  pop  up  through  the  roof  of 
the  ambulance.  The  country  was  very  level,  fortunately, 
or  I  don't  know  what  would  have  been  the  outcome. 

In  the  fall  of  1869  Mr.  Anthony  and  I  were  filling  a 
hay  contract  at  Camp  Supply.  Our  camp  was  about  ten 
miles  up  the  Beaver.  One  afternoon  I  started  from  Camp 
Supply  for  my  own  camp,  after  having  partaken  of  an 
excellent  dinner  at  the  officers'  mess.  It  was  issuing  day 
to  the  Indians;  I  think  the  first  time  that  live  beef  was 
ever  distributed  to  them.  Several  hundred  big,  wild 
Texas  steers  were  turned  over  to  them,  but  the  Indians 
didn't  care  for  the  meat;  they  could  always  get  plenty  of 
buffalo,  which  they  infinitely  preferred,  but  they  took 
great  delight  in  the  sport  of  killing  them  after  their  man- 
ner of  hunting  buffalo.  They  ran  the  frightened  creatures 
on  horseback,  lanced  them  with  their  spears,  and  shot 
them  full  of  arrows,  until  the  last  one  was  dead.  The 
whole  trail  was  strewn  with  dead  steers,  though  scarcely 

one  of  them  was  touched  for  food.    Occasionally  I  would 

—93— 


notice  one  whose  skin  was  covered  with  pretty  white 
spots,  and  this  fact  having  struck  the  savage  fancy,  they 
had  peeled  off  the  most  beautiful  of  them  to  make  quivers 
for  their  arrows. 

As  I  was  approaching  my  camp,  yet  some  two  miles 
distant,  a  large,  fat  Indian  rode  out  of  the  brush  on  a 
peculiar  piebald  pony,  and  by  signs  indicated  to  me  that 
he  wanted  to  swap.  I  asked  if  he  meant  that  pony;  he 
answered,  "Not  my  pony."  "What  is  it,  then.?"  said  I. 
He  tried  hard  to  make  me  understand,  but  I  could  not 
talk.  He  finally  motioned  for  me  to  ride  into  the  brush, 
but  I  said:  "Here,  old  fellow,  none  of  your  tricks;  I  don't 
want  any  squaws."  He  said:  "No  squaw,"  so  I  rode  in, 
and  saw  a  fine  dog  with  his  hindquarters  gone.  I  said  to 

him:  "You  go  to ;  what  do  you  take  me  for.?"  He 

replied:  "You're  a  fool;  you  don't  know  what  is  good." 
I  answered  him:  "Eat  it  yourself,  if  you  think  it  is  so 
nice."  He  then  said  he  had  just  traded  the  saddle  to  some 
white  folks,  and  wanted  to  trade  me  the  other  part.  The 
skin  was  still  hanging  on,  attached  to  the  body  of  the  dog 
where  he  had  stripped  it  from  the  saddle,  but  I  looked  at 
him  in  disgust  and  rode  off. 

When  I  arrived  at  my  camp  Mr.  Anthony  and  the 
boys  were  eating  supper.  I  threw  my  bridle-reins  over 
the  front  standard  of  a  wagon  and  walked  up  to  the  fire 
where  they  were  eating.  They  said  to  me,  "Come  and  get 
some  supper."  I  told  them  no;  I  had  partaken  of  a  hearty 
dinner  at  the  officers'  mess  just  before  I  left  Supply. 
Anthony  said:  "You  better  have  some;  I  bought  the  saddle 
of  an  antelope  from  an  Indian  this  afternoon;  it's  the 
sweetest  and  juiciest  meat  I  ever  tasted.  So  did  all  the 
men  urge  me  to  try  it.  Indeed,  they  were  lavish  in  the 
praise  of  their  antelope  meat.  I  said:  "Are  you  sure  that 
is  antelope  meat?  Antelope  are  very  scarce;  I  haven't 
seen  one  for  a  long  time."  They  were  certain  it  was  an- 
telope; it  tasted  like  antelope;  they  knew  it  was  antelope, 
and  remarked  it  was  a  good  one.  After  they  had  finished 

—94—- 


supper,  I  said:  "Fellows,  do  you  know  what  you  have  all 
been  eating  so  heartily?"  They  all  answered  antelope, 
of  course;  nothing  else.  I  told  them  it  was  dog!  They 
would  not  believe  me,  and  I  jumped  on  my  horse,  rode 
back,  threw  my  lariat  over  the  dog's  head  and  pulled  it 
into  camp.  "Now,"  said  I,  "a  big,  fat  Indian,  on  a  piebald 
pony,  tried  to  trade  me  the  balance  of  this  carcass."  An- 
thony said:  "That's  him,  sure,"  and  then  he  tried  to 
vomit.  The  others  poked  their  fingers  down  their  throats 
to  coaxe  up  the  obnoxious  meat,  but  I  interrupted  them 
with:  "It's  no  use,  boys;  he  is  down  deep  in  your 
stomachs;  let  him  stay  there." 

As  an  interesting  picture  of  another  phase  of  Indian 
life  on  the  plains,  I  quote  the  following  early  day  descrip- 
tion of  an  Indian  duel  and  their  death  songs: 

"Two  Indians  came  forth  from  different  lodges,  each 
with  a  gun  in  his  hand.  They  walked  some  little  distance 
from  the  rest  of  the  Indians  and  took  post  distant  from 
each  other  about  fifty  yards.  At  a  given  signal  they 
turned,  raised  their  rifles  to  their  faces,  and  fired.  Both 
fell  wounded,  one  fatally.  They  were  immediately  sur- 
rounded by  friends  who  made  no  effort  to  bind  their 
wounds  but  simply  stood  around,  talking  among  them- 
selves and  gesticulating,  while  the  wounded  Indians,  as 
soon  as  they  fell,  began  the  death  song.  There  was  little 
music  in  it.  It  was  a  sort  of  deep-down  unnatural  tone  of 
voice,  kept  up  for  half  a  minute  or  so  at  a  time,  when  it 
would  cease  and  the  sufferers  would,  in  the  interim,  make 
a  confession  of  all  the  evil  deeds  that  they  had  done. 
They  would  tell  of  the  massacres  in  which  they  had  been 
engaged,  how  many  scalps  they  had  lifted  from  the  heads 
of  white  people,  the  number  of  ponies  they  had  stolen, 
together  with  all  sorts  of  important  and  unimportant  evil 
doings  in  their  lifetime.  This  accomplished,  they  were 
ready  to  give  up  the  ghost." 

This  is  what  the  great  chief.  Spotted  Tail,  told  the 
President,  when  he  visited  Washington,  many  years  ago, 

— 95 — 


with  a  lot  of  other  chiefs.  It  is  so  much  Hke  the  wants 
of  Indians  who  visited  Fort  Dodge  in  early  days,  that  I 
can't  help  relating  it  here. 

"We  want  our  provisions  sent  to  the  agencies  that  I 
have  mentioned.  You  told  us  your  nation  increases;  we 
want  to  increase,  too,  in  prosperity  and  in  numbers.  You 
said  you  wished  us  to  be  like  white  men,  and  so  we  are 
here  today,  dressed  in  white  men's  clothes.  I  want  the 
kind  of  cattle  the  white  men  have,  short  horns.  I  want 
everything  in  writing,  before  I  go  home,  so  there  be  no 
mistake.  We  want  teachers  of  English ;  we  want  Catholic 
priests  to  teach  us.  We  should  like  saw  mills  and  grist 
mills  and  agricultural  instruments  and  seeds.  We  want 
five  or  six  stores;  then  we  could  buy  cheaper  from  one 
than  at  another.  I  am  very  well  dressed  and  so  are  the 
others.  They  want  forty  dollars  apiece  to  buy  things  for 
their  women  and  children,  and  they  would  like  to  have 
a  trunk  apiece  to  carry  their  clothing  in.  As  the  weather 
is  getting  a  little  cold,  we  should  like  to  have  an  overcoat 
apiece.  We  see  you  wearing  overcoats,  and  we  should 
like  to  have  them." 

Some  of  them,  who  came  to  Fort  Dodge  to  state  their 
grievances,  wanted  more  than  these.  They  wanted  even 
the  earth  and  it  fenced  in. 

Continual  danger  from  the  Indians  made  the  pioneers 
of  early  days  continually  apprehensive  of  Indian  attack 
and  continually  on  their  guard  against  surprise,  and 
keenly  watchful  when  any  suspicious  move  on  the  part 
of  the  Indians  was  observed.  Naturally,  this  caution  and 
watchfulness  were,  at  times,  somewhat  overdone,  Indian 
alarms  sometimes  proving  groundless,  and  precautions, 
against  seemingly  threatened  outbreak,  proving  needless, 
or  even  laughable. 

In  the  fall  of  1874  I  went  to  Texas,  and  when  I  came 
home  I  found  my  partner,  Mr.  H.  L.  Sitler,  who  was 
interested  with  me  in  a  government  hay  contract,  laid  up 
with  a  bad  flesh  wound  he  had  received  in  a  fight  with 

—96— 


Dr.  T.  L.  McCarty 
One  of  the  Seven  Old  Timers  of  Dodge  City 


the  Indians  only  the  day  before,  and  the  men  in  camp 
thirty  miles  west  of  Fort  Dodge  badly  demoralized,  as  the 
Indians  had  jumped  them  a  time  or  two  very  recently. 
I  mounted  a  good  horse,  taking  with  me  a  fine  rifle  and 
two  revolvers,  and  started  for  camp,  where  I  arrived  about 
sundown  that  night.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  the  boss,  and 
I  promised  to  stay  right  with  them,  which  promise  and 
my  cheering  conversation  soon  placed  them  in  good 
humor,  and  they  declared  their  intention  to  keep  on  at 
work.  In  the  night  there  came  on  one  of  our  late,  cold, 
misty,  drizzling  rains.  The  tent  was  leaky  and  the  next 
morning  we  all  got  up  feeling  wet  and  generally  miser- 
able. The  storm  looked  as  if  it  had  set  in  for  the  week. 
Of  course,  I  did  not  want  to  remain  there,  but  the  only 
compromise,  after  my  promise  of  the  evening  before,  was 
to  leave  with  the  boss  my  fine  rifle,  as  well  as  my  horse, 
and  ride  back  in  its  place  an  old,  wornout  one.  I  thought 
that  anything  was  better  than  staying  there;  so  I  ex- 
changed horses,  left  my  rifle,  and  started  for  Fort  Dodge. 
The  misty  rain  was  constantly  beating  in  my  face, 
so  that  it  almost  blinded  me.  I  left  the  main  road  and 
took  the  trail,  or  near  cut-off,  around  by  the  river,  and 
when  I  got  about  ten  miles  from  camp,  and  at  nearly  the 
place  where  Mr.  Sitler  was  shot,  up  jumped,  as  I  thought, 
a  lot  of  Indians,  yelling  and  shouting.  They  seemed  to 
be  traveling  in  Indian  file,  one  right  behind  the  other,  as 
I  had  often  seen  them.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  I  will  just 
fool  you;  I  will  make  a  long  detour  around  the  hollow 
and  come  back  into  the  trail  about  two  miles  below  here, 
and  you  fellows  are  trying  to  cut  me  off.  When  I  don't 
come  out  below,  as  you  expect  me  to  do,  you  will  go  over 
to  the  main  road  and  watch  there.  So  I  carried  out  my 
plan  and  came  back  to  the  place  two  miles  below,  but  they 
were  again  running  and  yelling  ahead  of  me,  it  seemed, 
worse  than  before.  I  tried  again,  with  the  same  result. 
Then  I  went  out  to  the  main  road,  chose  my  position,  and 
waited  for  their  coming,  intending  to  shoot  my  old  horse 

—97— 


and  then  lie  behind  him.  How  many  times  I  wished  I  had 
not  left  my  good  horse  in  camp,  as  I  could  easily  have 
run  away  from  the  Indians;  and  I  further  cursed  my 
luck  that  I  was  so  foolish  as  to  give  up  my  rifle  also. 
After  waiting  and  waiting  in  the  rain,  until  I  was  com- 
pletely soaked  and  tired  out,  expecting  them  to  be  on  me 
every  minute,  I  thought  I  would  go  back  to  the  trail  along 
the  rough  breaks  by  the  river  and  take  my  chances. 
When  I  got  back  the  last  time,  up  they  jumped  again; 
but  the  wind  and  rain  had  let  up  a  little  and  I  saw  what 
I  had  taken  for  Indians  was  nothing  but  a  flock  of  blue 
cranes.  You  see  the  wind  and  rain  were  so  blinding — 
one  of  those  awfully  cold,  misty  storms — that  when  I 
approached  the  river  the  birds  would  rise  and  merely 
skim  along  through  the  willows,  one  after  another,  and 
so  I  kept  chasing  them  down  stream  a  mile  or  more  every 
time  I  scared  them  up;  but  they  scared  me  worse  than  I 
scared  them;  they  chased  me  back  to  the  main  road  nearly 
frightened  to  death.  We  had  many  a  hearty  laugh  over 
my  fright  from  the  cranes. 


—98-- 


Chapter  VI. 

Wild  Days  with  the  Soldiers 

A  S  has  been  stated,  the  site  of  Fort  Dodge  was  an 
old  camping  ground  for  trains  going  to  New  Mexico. 
The  government  was  obHged  to  erect  a  fort  here,  but  even 
then  the  Indians  struggled  for  the  mastery,  and  made 
many  attacks,  not  only  on  passing  trains,  but  on  the  troops 
themselves.  I  witnessed  the  running  off  of  over  one 
hundred  horses,  those  of  Captain  William  Thompson's 
troop  of  the  Seventh  United  States  Cavalry.  The  savages 
killed  the  guard  and  then  defied  the  garrison,  as  they 
knew  the  soldiers  had  no  horses  on  which  to  follow  them. 
Several  times  have  I  seen  them  run  right  into  the  fort, 
cut  off  and  gather  up  what  loose  stock  there  was  around, 
and  kill  and  dismount  and  deliberately  scalp  one  or  more 
victims,  whom  they  had  caught  outside  the  garrison, 
before  the  soldiers  could  mount  and  follow. 

Early  one  very  foggy  morning  they  made  a  descent 
on  a  large  body  of  troops,  mostly  infantry,  with  a  big 
lot  of  transportation.  At  this  time  the  government  was 
preparing  for  a  campaign  against  them.  It  was  a  bold 
thing  to  do,  but  they  made  a  brave  dash  right  into  and 
among  the  big  mule  trains.  It  was  so  dark  and  foggy 
that  nothing  was  seen  of  them  until  they  were  in  the 
camp,  and  they  made  a  reign  of  bedlam  for  a  short  time. 
They  succeed  in  cutting  about  fifty  mules  loose  from  the 
wagons  and  getting  away  with  them,  and  killing,  scalp- 
ing, and  mutilating  an  old  hunter  named  Ralph,  just  as 
he  was  in  the  act  of  killing  a  coyote  he  had  caught  in 
a  steel  trap,  not  three  hundreds  yards  from  the  mule  camp. 
Of  course  they  shot  him  with  arrows,  and  then  speared 
him,  so  that  no  report  should  be  heard  from  the  camp. 
"Boots  and  saddles"  was  soon  sounded,  and  away  went 
two  companies  of  cavalry,  some  scouts  following  or  at 

—99— 


least  acting  as  flankers,  I  among  the  latter.  The  cavalry 
kept  to  the  road  while  we  took  to  the  hills.  In  the  course 
of  time  we  came  up  to  the  Indians — the  fog  still  very 
heavy — and  were  right  in  among  them  before  we  knew  it. 
Then  came  the  chase.  First  we  ran  them,  and  then  they 
turned  and  chased  us.  They  outnumbered  us  ten  to  one. 
More  than  once  did  we  draw  them  down  within  a  mile  or 
two  of  the  cavalry,  when  we  would  send  one  of  our  num- 
ber back  and  plead  with  the  captain  to  help  us;  but  his 
reply  was  that  he  had  orders  to  the  contrary,  and  could 
not  disobey.  I  did  not  think  he  acted  from  fear  or  was  a 
coward,  but  I  told  him  afterward  he  lost  an  opportunity 
that  day  to  make  his  mark  and  put  a  feather  in  his  cap; 
and  I  believe  he  thought  so,  too,  and  regretted  he  had 
not  made  a  charge  regardless  of  orders. 

In  a  previous  chapter,  the  account  was  given  of  the 
massacre  of  the  little  Mexican  train  and  the  scattering  of 
their  flour  and  feather  beds  upon  the  bluffs  near  the 
site  of  Fort  Dodge,  but  before  the  fort  was  established. 
On  the  bottom  immediately  opposite  is  where  Colonel 
Thompson's  horses  of  the  troop  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry 
were  run  off  by  the  Indians.  One  of  the  herds  on  duty 
jumped  into  the  river  and  was  killed ;  the  other  unfortun- 
ately or  fortunately  was  chased  by  the  savages  right  into 
the  parade  ground  of  the  fort  before  the  last  Indian  leav- 
ing him,  grabbing  at  his  bridle-rein  in  his  determined 
effort  to  get  the  soldier's  horse.  The  persistent  savage 
had  fired  all  his  arrows  at  the  trooper,  and  the  latter, 
when  taken  to  the  hospital,  had  two  or  three  of  the  cruel 
shafts  stuck  in  his  back,  from  the  effect  of  which  wounds 
he  died  in  a  few  hours. 

Major  Kidd,  or  Major  Yard,  I  do  not  remember 
which  just  now,  was  in  command  at  Fort  Larned,  and 
had  received  orders  from  department  headquarters  not  to 
permit  less  than  a  hundred  wagons  to  pass  the  fort  at  one 
time,  on  account  of  the  danger  from  Indians,  all  of  whom 
were  on  the  warpath.   One  day  four  or  five  ambulances 

—100— 


from  the  Missouri  River  arrived  at  the  fort  filled  with 
Nev^  Mexico  merchants  and  traders  on  the  v^^ay  home  to 
their  several  stations.  In  obedience  to  his  orders,  the 
commanding  officer  tried  to  stop  them.  After  laying  at 
Larned  a  fev^  days,  the  delay  became  very  wearisome; 
they  were  anxious  to  get  back  to  their  business,  which 
was  suffering  on  account  of  their  prolonged  absence. 
They  went  to  the  commanding  officer  several  times,  beg- 
ging and  pleading  with  him  to  allow  them  to  proceed. 
Finally  he  said:  "Well,  old  French  Dave,  the  guide  and 
interpreter  of  the  post,  is  camped  down  the  creek;  go  and 
consult  him;  I  will  abide  by  what  he  says."  So,  armed 
with  some  fine  old  whisky  and  the  best  brand  of  cigars, 
which  they  had  brought  from  St.  Louis,  they  went  in  a 
body  down  to  French  Dave's  camp,  and,  after  filling  him 
with  their  elegant  liquor  and  handing  him  some  of  the 
cigars,  they  said:  "Now,  Dave,  there  are  twenty  of  us 
here,  all  bright  young  men  who  are  used  to  the  frontier; 
we  have  plenty  of  arms  and  ammunition,  and  know  how 
to  use  them;  don't  you  think  it  safe  for  us  to  go  through ?" 
Dave  was  silent;  they  asked  the  question  again,  but  he 
slowly  puffed  away  at  his  fine  cigar  and  said  nothing. 
When  they  put  the  question  to  him  for  a  third  time, 
Dave  deliberately,  and  without  looking  up,  said:  "One 
man  go  troo  twenty  time;  Indian  no  see  you.  Twenty 
mans  go  troo  one  time  and  Indian  kill  every  s —  o —  b — 
of  you." 

General  Sheridan  was  at  Fort  Dodge  in  the  summer 
of  1886,  making  every  preparation  to  begin  an  active  and 
thorough  campaign  against  the  Indians.  One  day  he 
perceived,  at  a  long  distance  south,  something  approaching 
the  post  which,  with  the  good  field-glass,  we  took  to  be 
a  flag  of  truce — the  largest  flag  of  the  kind,  I  suppose, 
that  was  ever  employed  for  a  like  purpose.  Little  Raven 
had  procured  an  immense  white  wagon-sheet  and  nailed 
it  to  one  of  his  long,  straight  tepee  poles,  and  lashed  it 
upright  to  his  ambulance.    He  marched  in  with  a  band 

— aoi— 


of  his  warriors  to  learn  whether  he  was  welcome,  and  to 
tell  the  big  general  he  would  be  in  the  next  sleep  with  all 
his  people  to  make  a  treaty.  Sheridan  told  him  that 
maybe  he  could  get  them  in  by  the  next  night,  and  maybe 
he  had  better  say  in  two  or  three  sleeps  from  now.  Little 
Raven  said:  "No;  all  we  want  is  one  sleep."  The  time  he 
asked  for  was  granted  by  the  general,  but  this  was  the 
last  Sheridan  ever  saw  of  him  until  the  band  made  its 
usual  treaty  that  winter.  The  wary  old  rascal  used  this 
ruse  to  get  the  women  and  children  out  of  the  way  before 
using  hostilities.  The  first  time  he  came  after  peace  was 
declared  he  was  minus  his  ambulance.  I  asked  him  what 
had  become  of  it.  He  replied:  "Oh,  it  made  too  good  a 
trail  for  the  soldiers;  they  followed  us  up  day  after  day 
by  its  tracks.  Then  I  took  it  to  pieces,  hung  the  wheels  in 
a  tree,  hid  the  balance  of  it  here  and  there,  and  every- 
where, in  the  brush,  and  buried  part  of  it." 

During  the  same  expedition,  after  the  main  com- 
mand had  left  the  fort  with  all  the  guides  and  scouts, 
there  were  some  important  dispatches  to  be  taken  to  the 
command.  Two  beardless  youths  volunteered  to  carry 
them.  They  had  never  seen  a  hostile  Indian,  or  slept  a 
single  night  on  a  lonely  plain,  but  were  fresh  from  the 
states.  I  knew  that  it  was  murder  to  allow  them  to  go, 
and  I  pitied  them  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  They 
were  full  of  enthusiasm,  however,  and  determined  to  go. 
I  gave  them  repeated  warnings  and  advice  as  to  how 
they  should  travel,  how  they  should  camp,  and  what 
precautions  to  take,  and  they  started.  They  never  reached 
the  command,  but  were  captured  in  the  brush  on  Beaver 
creek  about  dusk  one  evening — taken  alive  without  ever 
firing  a  shot.  The  savages  had  been*  closely  watching 
them,  and  when  they  had  unsaddled  their  horses  and 
gone  into  the  brush  to  cook  their  supper  (having  laid 
down  their  arms  on  their  saddles),  the  Indians  jumped 
them,  cut  their  throats,  scalped  them,  and  stripped  them 
naked. 

—102— 


Drunken  Tom  Wilson,  as  he  was  called,  left  a  few 
days  afterward  with  dispatches  for  the  command,  which 
he  reached  without  accident,  just  as  French  Dave  had  in- 
timated to  the  New  Mexico  merchants  about  one  man 
going  through  safely.  It  made  Tom,  however,  too  rash 
and  brave.  Give  him  a  few  canteens  of  whisky  and  he 
would  go  anywhere.  I  met  him  after  his  trip  at  Fort 
Larned  one  day  when  he  was  about  starting  to  Fort 
Dodge.  I  said:  "Tom,  wait  until  tonight  and  we  will  go 
with  you,"  but  he  declined;  he  thought  he  was  invulner- 
able and  left  for  the  post.  On  the  trail  that  night,  as  I 
and  others  were  going  to  Fort  Dodge,  under  cover  of 
darkness,  our  horses  shied  at  something  lying  in  the  road 
as  we  were  crossing  Coon  creek.  We  learned  after- 
wards that  it  was  the  body  of  drunken  Tom  and  his  old 
white  horse.  The  Indians  had  laid  in  wait  for  him  there 
under  the  bank  of  the  creek,  and  killed  both  him  and 
his  horse,  I  suppose,  before  he  had  a  chance  to  fire  a  shot. 

Two  scouts,  Nate  Marshall  and  Bill  Davis,  both  brave 
men,  gallant  riders,  and  splendid  shots,  were  killed  at 
Mulberry  creek  by  the  Indians.  It  was  supposed  they  had 
made  a  determined  fight,  as  a  great  many  cartridge  shells 
were  found  near  their  bodies,  at  the  foot  of  a  big  cotton- 
wood  tree.  But  it  appears  that  was  not  so.  I  felt  a  deep 
interest  in  Marshall,  because  he  had  worked  for  me 
for  several  years;  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  sign 
language,  and  terribly  stuck  on  the  Indian  ways — I  reckon 
the  savage  maidens,  particularly.  He  was  so  much  of  an 
Indian  himself  that  he  could  don  breech-clouts  and  live 
with  them  for  months  at  a  time;  in  fact,  so  firmly  did  he 
think  he  had  ingratiated  himself  with  them,  that  he  be- 
lieved they  would  never  kill  him.  Ed.  Gurrier,  a  half- 
breed  and  scout,  had  often  written  him  from  Fort  Lyon 
not  to  be  too  rash;  that  the  Indians  would  kill  anyone 
when  they  were  at  war;  they  knew  no  friends  among  the 
white  men.   Marshall  and  Davis  were  ordered  to  carry 

dispatches  to  General  Sheridan,  then  in  the  field.  They 

—103— 


arrived  at  Camp  Supply,  where  the  general  was  at  that 
time,  delivered  their  dispatches,  and  were  immediately 
sent  back  to  Fort  Dodge  with  another  batch  of  dispatches 
and  a  small  mail.  When  they  had  ridden  to  within 
twenty  miles  of  Fort  Dodge,  they  saw  a  band  of  Arapa- 
hoes  and  Cheyennes  emerging  from  the  brush  on  the 
Mulberry.  They  quickly  hid  themselves  in  a  deep  cut  on 
the  left  of  the  trail  as  it  descends  the  hill  going  south- 
west, before  the  Indians  got  a  glimpse  of  them,  as  the 
ravine  was  deep  enough  to  perfectly  conceal  both  them 
and  their  horeses,  and  there  they  remained  until,  as  they 
thought,  the  danger  had  passed. 

Unfortunately  for  them,  however,  one  of  the  savages, 
from  some  cause,  had  straggled  a  long  way  behind  the 
main  body.  Still  the  scouts  could  have  made  their  escape, 
but  Marshall  very  foolishly  dismounted,  called  to  the 
Indian,  and  made  signs  for  him  to  come  to  him;  they 
would  not  hurt  him;  not  to  be  afraid;  they  only  wanted 
to  know  who  were  in  the  party,  where  they  were  going, 
and  what  they  were  after.  Marshall  imposed  such  im- 
plicit confidence  in  the  Indians  that  he  never  believed 
for  a  moment  that  they  would  kill  him,  but  he  was  mis- 
taken. The  savage  to  whom  Marshall  had  made  the  sign 
to  come  to  him  was  scared  to  death ;  he  shot  off  his  pistol, 
which  attracted  the  attention  of  the  others,  who  immedi- 
ately came  dashing  back  on  the  trail,  and  were  right  upon 
the  scouts  before  the  latter  saw  them.  It  was  then  a  race 
for  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  timber  on  the  creek  bot- 
tom. But  the  fight  was  too  unequal;  the  savages  getting 
under  just  as  good  a  cover  as  the  scouts.  The  Indians  fired 
upon  them  from  every  side  until  the  unfortunate  men 
were  soon  dispatched,  and  one  of  their  horses  killed; 
the  other,  a  splendid  animal,  was  captured  by  the  Chey- 
ennes, but  the  Arapahoes  claimed  him  because  they  said 
there  were  twice  as  many  of  them.  Consequently,  there 
arose  a  dispute  over  the  ownership  of  the  horse,  when  one 
of  the  more  deliberate  savages  pulled  out  his  six-shooter 

— 104 — 


and  shot  the  horse  dead.  Then  he  said:  "Either  side  may 
take  the  horse  that  wants  him."  This  is  generally  the 
method  employed  by  the  Indians  to  settle  any  dispute  re- 
garding the  ownership  of  live  property. 

As  an  example  of  the  encounters  the  soldiers  had  so 
frequently  with  the  Indians,  in  frontier  days,  there  cannot 
be  a  better  than  that  of  the  battle  of  Little  Coon  creek, 
in  1868.  I  did  not  take  part  in  this  fight,  but  I  was  at 
Fort  Dodge  at  the  time,  knew  the  participants,  and  was 
present  when  the  survivors  entered  the  fort,  after  the 
fray  was  over.  One  of  the  scouts  who  took  part,  Mr.  Lee 
Herron,  still  lives,  at  Saint  Paul,  Nebraska,  and,  I  am 
indebted  to  him  for  the  following  account  of  the  fight 
and  the  copy  of  the  accompanying  song,  which  he  com- 
piled for  me,  very  recently,  with  his  own  hand. 

FIGHT  AT  LITTLE  COON  CREEK 

During  1868  the  Indians  were  more  troublesome  than 
at  any  previous  time  in  the  history  of  the  old  Santa  Fe 
Trail — so  conceded  by  old  plainsmen,  scouts  and  Indian 
fighters  at  that  time.  It  was  a  battle  ground  from  old 
Fort  Harker  to  Fort  Lyon,  or  Bent's  Old  Fort  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Picketware,  near  where  it  empties  into  the 
Arkansas  River.  The  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  had  different  out- 
fitting points  at  the  east,  and  at  different  periods.-  At 
one  time  it  started  at  Westport,  now  Kansas  City,  at  an 
earlier  date  at  Independence,  Missouri,  and  at  one  time — 
in  the  fore  part  of  the  nineteenth  century — at  St.  Louis, 
Missouri;  but  from  i860  to  1867  the  principal  outfitting 
point  was  at  Leavenworth,  Kansas,  and  its  principal  des- 
tination in  the  west  was  Fort  Union  and  Santa  Fe,  New 
Mexico.  But  Fort  Dodge  and  vicinity  was  the  central 
point  from  which  most  of  the  Indian  raids  culminated 
and  depredations  were  committed.  The  Indians  became 
so  annoying  in  1868  that  the  Barlow  Sanderson  stage 
line,  running  from  Kansas  City,  Missouri,  to  Santa  Fe, 

New  Mexico,  found  it  necessary  to  abandon  the  line  as 

—105— 


there  were  not  enough  soldiers  to  escort  the  stages 
through.  Also  the  Butterfield  stage  line  on  the  Smoky 
Hill  route  was  abandoned.  Several  of  the  southern  tribes 
of  Indians  consisted  of  Kiowas,  Comanches,  Arapahoes, 
Cheyennes,  Apaches  and  Dog  Soldiers.  The  Dog  Soldiers 
consisted  of  renegades  of  all  the  other  tribes  and  were  a 
desperate  bunch,  with  Charley  Bent  as  their  leader.  Also 
the  Sioux,  a  northern  tribe,  was  on  the  warpath  and  allied 
themselves  with  the  southern  tribes.  In  all  some  five 
thousand  or  more  armed  Indians  joined  forces  to  drive  the 
white  people  off  the  plains,  and  it  almost  looked  for  a 
time  as  though  they  would  succeed,  for  they  were  in 
earnest  and  desperate.  Had  they  been  better  armed,  our 
losses  would  have  been  much  heavier  than  they  were  as 
they  greatly  outnumbered  us.  It  was  a  common  occur- 
rence for  us  to  fight  them  one  to  ten,  and  often  one  to 
twenty  or  more,  but  the  Indians  frequently  had  to  depend 
entirely  upon  their  bows  and  arrows,  as  at  times  they  had 
no  ammunition.  This  placed  them  at  a  disadvantage  at 
long  range  as  their  bows  and  arrows  were  not  efficient 
over  two  hundred  feet,  but  at  close  range,  from  twenty- 
five  to  one  hundred  feet,  their  arrows  were  as  deadly  as 
bullets,  if  not  more  so.  So  after  the  stage  line  was  dis- 
continued, a  detail  was  made  of  the  most  fearless  and 
determined  men  of  the  soldiers  stationed  at  Fort  Dodge, 
as  a  sort  of  pony  express,  which  was  in  commission  at 
night  time,  as  it  would  be  impossible  to  travel  in  the  day- 
time with  less  than  a  troop  of  cavalry  or  a  company  of 
infantry,  and  they  had  no  assurance  of  getting  through 
without  losing  a  good  part  of  the  men,  or  perhaps  the 
entire  troop,  and  the  entire  troop  would  stand  a  big 
chance  of  being  massacred.  Indeed,  in  the  fall  of  1868— 
October,  I  think — I  joined  Tom  Wallace's  scouts  and 
went  with  the  Seventh  United  States  Cavalry  and  several 
companies  of  infantry,  Wallace's  scouts  and  a  company 
of  citizen  scouts,  with  California  Joe  in  command,  all  un- 
der command  of  General  Alfred  Sully,  a  noted  Indian 

—106— 


fighter  of  the  early  days.  The  command  started  south, 
crossing  the  Arkansas  River  just  above  Fort  Dodge.  From 
the  time  wt  left  the  Arkansas  River  it  w^as  a  constant 
skirmish  until  we  reached  the  Wichita  mountains,  the 
winter  home  of  the  southern  tribes.  After  w^e  got  into  the 
mountains,  the  Indians  crow^ded  us  so  hard  that  the  whole 
command  was  compelled  to  retreat,  and  had  not  the  com- 
mand formed  in  a  hollow  square,  with  all  non-combat- 
ants in  the  center,  it  might  have  proved  disastrous.  As  it 
was,  a  number  were  killed  and  some  were  taken  prisoners 
and  burned  at  the  stake  and  terribly  tortured.  A  very 
interesting  article  could  be  written  about  this  expedition, 
and  I  think  but  a  very  little  is  known  of  it,  as  there  is  but 
a  sentence  relating  to  it  in  history. 

Fort  Dodge  was  the  pivot  and  distributing  base  of 
supplies  in  1868,  and  thrilling  events  were  taking  place 
all  the  time.  All  trains  were  held  up  and  some  captured 
and  burned,  and  all  who  were  with  the  train  were  killed 
or  captured,  and  the  captured  were  subjected  to  the 
most  excruciating  torture  and  abuse.  I  saw  one  party 
which  was  massacred  up  west  of  Dodge.  Not  a  soul  was 
left  to  tell  who  they  were  or  where  they  were  going,  and 
no  doubt  their  friends  looked  for  them  for  many  years, 
and  at  last  gave  up  in  despair.  I  served  in  the  Civil  War  in 
Company  C  Eighty-Third  Pennsylvania  Volunteers,  and 
we  sustained  the  heaviest  losses,  numerically  of  any 
regiment  in  the  entire  Union  army,  except  the  Fifth  New 
Hampshire.  This  is  according  to  war  records  compiled 
by  Colonel  Fox.  But  there  were  many  times  along  the 
old  Santa  Fe  trail  where  the  percentage  of  losses  was 
greater  than  in  the  Civil  War.  However,  there  is  no 
record  kept  of  it  that  I  am  aware  of.  Of  course  in  these 
fights  there  were  but  a  few  men  engaged,  where  in  the 
Civil  War  there  were  tens  of  thousands  and  many  thou- 
sands lost  their  lives,  and  a  few  hundred  men  who  lost 
their  lives  out  on  the  great  plains  was  scarcely  known 

—107— 


except  to  those  in  the  vicinity — ^hundreds  of  miles  from 
civiHzation. 

On  the  night  of  September  first  1868,  I  was  coming 
from  Fort  Larned  with  mail  and  dispatches  when  I  met 
a  mule  team  and  government  wagon  loaded  with  wood, 
going  to  Big  Coon  creek,  forty  miles  east  of  Fort  Dodge, 
as  there  was  a  small  sod  fort  located  there,  garrisoned 
with  a  sergeant  and  ten  men.  These  few  men  could  hold 
this  place  against  twenty  times  their  number  as  it  was  all 
earth  and  sod,  with  a  heavy  clay  roof,  and  port-holes  all 
around,  and  they  could  kill  off  the  Indians  about  as  fast 
as  they  would  come  up,  as  long  as  their  ammunition  held 
out.  But  they  were  not  safe  outside  a  minute.  They  had 
been  depending  on  buffalo  chips  for  fuel,  as  there  was  no 
other  fuel  available,  and  as  soon  as  the  men  would  attempt 
to  go  out  to  gather  buffalo  chips,  the  Indians  lying  in 
little  ravines  of  which  there  was  a  number  close  by, 
would  let  a  shower  of  arrows  or  bullets  into  them.  The 
reason  why  the  men  with  the  wagon  whom  I  have  men- 
tioned were  going  to  Big  Coon  Creek  was  to  take  them 
wood.  I  told  the  boys  who  were  with  the  wagon  to  under 
no  consideration  leave  Big  Coon  creek,  or  Fort  Coon  as 
we  called  it,  until  a  wagon  train  came  by,  and  if  they 
would  not  wait  for  a  wagon  train,  by  all  means  to  wait 
until  it  got  good  and  dark,  as  the  Indians  are  inclined  to 
be  suspicious  at  night  time,  and  not  so  apt  to  attack  as  in 
daytime.  The  men,  whose  names  were  Jimmy  Goodman, 
Company  B,  Eleventh  United  States  Cavalry,  Hartman 
and  Tolen,  Company  F,  Third  United  States  Infantry, 
and  Jack  O'Donald,  Company  A,  Third  United  States 
Infantry,  imagined  I  was  over-cautious,  and  started  back 
the  afternoon  of  September  fourth,  1868. 

I,  after  parting  with  them,  continued  on  towards  Fort 
Dodge,  where  I  arrived  just  before  daylight,  the  morning 
of  September  second.  After  lying  down  and  having  a 
much  needed  sleep,  and  rest,  I,  in  the  evening,  went  up  to 
Tapan's  sutler  store.     I  noticed  the  Indian's  signals  of 

—108— 


smoke  in  different  directions,  and  I  knew  this  foreboded 
serious  trouble.  They  signaled  by  fire  at  night  and  smoke 
by  day,  and  could  easily  communicate  with  one  another 
fifty  or  sixty  miles.  I  had  not  been  at  the  sutler  store 
long,  where  I  was  in  conversation  with  some  of  the  scouts. 
There  were  a  number  of  famous  scouts  at  Fort  Dodge  at 
that  time  consisting  of  such  men  as  California  Joe,  Wild 
Bill  Hickok,  Apache  Bill,  Bill  Wilson  and  quite  a  number 
of  others  whose  names  I  have  forgotten,  but  I  noticed  the 
enlisted  men  had  to  stand  the  brunt  of  the  work.  I  never 
could  understand  why  this  was  and  it  is  a  mystery  to  me, 
except  those  scouts  of  fame  were  too  precious,  and  soldiers 
didn't  count  for  much  for  there  were  more  of  them. 
While  I  was  standing  talking,  an  orderly  came  up  to  me 
and  said  the  commanding  officer  wanted  to  see  me  at 
once.  It  was  nearly  night  at  this  time.  I  at  once  reported 
to  the  commanding  officer.  He  informed  me  that  he 
wanted  me  to  select  a  reliable  man  and  be  ready  to  start 
with  dispatches  for  Fort  Larned,  seventy-five  miles  east 
on  the  wet  route,  or  sixty-five  miles  east  on  the  dry  route. 
As  I  had  just  come  in  that  morning,  I  thought  it  peculiar 
he  did  not  select  some  of  those  noble  spirits  I  had  just 
left  at  the  sutler's  store,  but  it  was  possible  he  was  saving 
them  up  for  extreme  emergency,  but  I  could  not  see  from 
the  outlook  of  the  surroundings  as  the  emergency  would 
be  any  more  acute  than  at  the  present  time,  as  the  terms 
of  the  dispatch  we  were  to  take,  if  I  remember  right, 
were  for  reinforcements.  I  selected  a  man  of  Company  B, 
Troop  Seven,  United  States  Cavalry,  named  Paddy  Boyle, 
who  had  no  superior  for  bravery  and  determination  when 
in  dangerous  quarters,  on  the  whole  Santa  Fe  Trail. 
Paddy  sleeps  under  the  sod  of  old  Kentucky.  For  many 
years  he  had  no  peer  and  few  equals  as  a  staunch,  true 
friend  and  brave  man.  As  luck  would  have  it  on  this 
night  Boyle  selected  one  of  the  swiftest  and  best  winded 
horses  at  the  fort,  and  only  for  that  I  would  not  have 
been  permitted  to  ever  see4<ort  Dodge  again,  for  that 

e7 


horse,  as  later  will  be  seen,  saved  our  lives.  We  had  our 
canteens  filled  vv^ith  government  v^hisky  before  we  started, 
as  a  prevention  for  rattlesnake  bites,  as  rattlesnakes  were 
thick  in  those  days,  or  any  other  serious  event  which 
might  occur,  and  often  did  occur  in  those  strange  days  on 
the  Great  Plains. 

I  felt  a  premonition  unusual  and  Boyle  did  too,  and 
several  of  our  friends  came  and  bade  us  good-bye,  which 
was  rather  an  unusual  occurrence.  I  don't  think  the  com- 
manding officer  thought  we  would  ever  get  through,  for 
Indian  night  signals  were  going  up  in  all  directions,  which 
indicated  that  they  were  very  restless. 

When  we  arrived  near  Little  Coon  creek  we  heard 
firing  and  yelling  in  front  of  us.  We  went  down  into  a 
ravine  leading  in  the  direction  we  were  going,  cautiously 
approaching  nearer  where  the  firing  was  going  on,  and 
made  the  discovery  that  the  Indians  had  surrounded  what 
we  supposed  to  be  a  wagon  train.  We  knew  somebody 
was  in  trouble  and  could  at  this  time  see  objects  seated 
all  around  on  the  nearby  plains,  which  proved  to  be 
Indians,  but  as  yet  we  had  not  been  seen  by  the  Indians 
or,  if  they  did  see  us,  they  took  us  for  some  of  their  own 
party  as  it  was  night.  They  were  so  busy  with  the  wagon 
train  that  they  didn't  know  we  were  whites  until  we 
went  dashing  through  their  midst,  whooping  and  yelling 
like  Comanches,  and  firing  right  and  left.  Instead  of 
being  a  wagon  train  as  we  thought  it  was,  it  proved  to 
be  the  party  we  last  met  at  or  near  Big  Coon  creek  with 
the  wood  wagon,  and  we  arrived  just  in  time  to  save 
them  from  being  massacred.  At  this  time  the  Indians 
made  a  desperate  charge,  but  were  repulsed  and  driven 
back  in  good  style.  When  I  looked  the  ground  over  and 
saw  what  a  poor  place  it  was  to  make  a  fight  against  such 
odds,  I  knew  that  as  soon  as  it  got  daylight  we  were  sure 
to  lose  our  scalps,  and  that  at  any  moment  they  might 
get  in  some  good  shots  on  one  of  their  desperate  charges, 
and  disable  or  kill  all  of  us.    I  suggested  that  either  Boyle 

—110— 


or  myself  try  and  cut  his  way  through  the  Indians  and 
go  to  the  fort  for  assistance.  As  Boyle  had  the  best  horse 
in  the  outfit — a  fine  dapple-grey,  the  same  horse  prev- 
iously mentioned  in  this  article — Boyle  said  he  would 
make  the  attempt. 

He  took  a  sip  from  his  canteen  and  then  handed  it  to 
me,  saying  we  would  probably  need  it  more  than  he  would, 
as  he  didn't  propose  to  be  taken  alive  and  that  if  he  got 
through  he  could  drink  at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  It 
always  seemed  to  me  this  noble  horse  understood  the  sit- 
uation and  knew  what  was  wanted  of  him.  Our  horses 
had  a  terrible  dread  of  Indians.  When  Boyle  started  it 
needed  no  effort  to  induce  the  noble  dapple-grey  to  go, 
for  he  darted  away  like  a  shot  out  of  a  gun.  When  Boyle 
left  us,  he  had  to  go  down  in  a  deep  ravine  which  was  the 
bed  of  Little  Coon  creek,  and  where  the  main  trail  weaved 
to  the  right  for  a  distance  of  perhaps  two  hundred  yards 
in  order  to  again  get  out  of  the  ravine,  as  the  banks  were 
very  steep  and  not  practicable  to  go  straight  across.  At 
this  time  some  of  the  Indians  attempted  to  head  him  off, 
and  did  so  far  as  following  the  main  trail  was  concerned, 
as  I  had  a  fairly  good  view  of  the  top  of  the  hill  where 
Boyle  should  come  out.  At  this  time  several  shots  were 
fired  at  Boyle,  and  not  seeing  him  come  out  I  supposed  he 
was  killed  and  told  the  men  so,  and  there  was  no  possible 
chance  of  us  ever  getting  out  that  I  could  see.  Up  to  this 
time  we  had  been  behind  the  wagon,  but  the  Indians  were 
circling  all  around  us,  and  I  could  see  we  had  to  get  into 
more  secure  shelter  as  all  the  protection  we  had  was  the 
wagon  which  was  very  poor  protection  from  arrows  and 
bullets.  Within  a  short  distance  of  us  there  was  a  deep 
buffalo  wallow.  When  the  Indians  had  quieted  down  a 
little,  we,  by  strenuous  efforts,  pushed  the  wagon  so  it 
stood  over  the  buffalo  wallow.  After  getting  into  the 
wallow  we  found  conditions  much  improved  so  far  as 
shelter  from  the  firing  was  concerned  and  if  our  ammuni- 
tion was  more  plentiful  we  would  have  felt  much  more 

—111— 


encouraged,  but  we  knew  unless  relief  came  before  day- 
light they  would  get  us.  But  I  will  mention  a  little  mat- 
ter that  perhaps  many  of  the  good  people  of  Kansas 
would  not  approve  of,  as  Kansas  is  a  prohibition  state. 
The  canteen  full  of  whisky  did  a  lot  to  keep  up  our  spirits. 
Occasionally  I  would  give  each  one  a  small  amount  and 
did  not  neglect  myself.  This  little  bit  of  stimulant, 
under  these  extremely  unpleasant  conditions  had  a  very 
good  effect,  and  I  believe  our  aim  was  more  steady  and 
effective. 

The  Indians  charged  repeatedly,  uttering  the  most 
blood  curdling  yells.  Most  of  the  time  they  would  be  on 
the  side  of  their  horses  so  we  could  not  see  them,  but  hit- 
ting their  ponies,  the  bullets  would  go  through  and 
occasionally  get  one  of  them.  They  several  times  charged 
up  within  a  few  feet  of  the  wagon,  but  the  boys  were 
calm  and  took  deadly  aim  and  would  drive  them  back 
every  time.  There  were  some  of  their  ponies  lying  dead 
close  to  the  wagon.  It  was  seldom  the  Indians  would 
make  such  desperate  and  determined  efforts  when  there 
was  nothing  to  gain  except  to  get  a  few  scalps,  but  I  think 
at  that  time,  in  fact,  at  all  times  when  they  were  on  the 
warpath,  a  scalp-lock  was  more  desirable  to  an  Indian 
warrior  than  anything  else  their  imagination  could  con- 
ceive. It  was  the  ones  who  got  the  most  scalps  that  were 
the  most  honored,  and  promotion  to  chiefs  depended  on 
the  amount  of  scalps  secured  while  out  on  expeditions  on 
the  warpath.  I  have  known  Indians  to  be  cornered  when 
they  would  make  the  most  desperate  fight,  and  fight  until 
all  were  killed. 

At  this  time  our  ammunition  was  getting  low  and  we 
saw  we  couldn't  hold  out  much  longer.  Goodman  had 
been  wounded  seven  times  by  arrows  and  bullets,  Jack 
O'Donald  had  been  struck  with  a  tomahawk  and  received 
other  wounds,  Nolan  was  wounded  with  arrows  and  bul- 
lets. This  left  Hartman  and  myself  to  stand  off  the 
Indians,  and  towards  the  last  Hartman  was  wounded  but 

—-112— 


not  seriously  disabling  him.  I  would  load  my  Remington 
revolver  and  hand  it  to  Nolan,  v^ho  w^as  obliged  to  fire 
v^ith  his  left  hand,  his  right  arm  being  shattered.  The 
Indians  charged  right  up  to  the  wagons  more  than  once. 
At  one  time  O'Donald  had  a  hand  to  hand  encounter  with 
one,  and  was  struck  on  the  head  with  a  tomahawk.  It 
was  only  by  the  most  desperate  exertions  that  anyone 
escaped.  The  party  were  entirely  within  their  power 
more  than  once,  but  they  would  cease  action  to  carry  off 
their  dead — which  lost  the  Indians  many  a  fight,  as  they 
thought  if  one  of  their  number  lost  his  scalp  he  could  not 
enter  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds. 

Finally  we  saw  the  Indians  apparently  getting  ready 
for  another  rush  from  a  different  direction,  fully  expect- 
ing that  they  would  get  us  if  they  did.  At  about  the 
same  time  I  noticed  a  body  of  horsemen  coming  out  of  a 
ravine  in  another  direction.  We  supposed  this  was  an- 
other tactful  dodge  of  the  Indians  and  they  would  come 
at  us  from  two  ways.  At  this  time  we  hadn't  any  prospect 
or  hope  of  saving  our  lives.  Had  we  had  plenty  of  am- 
munition we  could  have  probably  held  them  off  for 
awhile,  but  ammunition  we  did  not  have,  perhaps  not  over 
a  dozen  rounds.  It  was  understood  by  all  of  us  that  we 
would  not  be  taken  alive,  but  that  each  one's  last  shot 
was  to  be  used  on  himself. 

What  seemed  extremely  mysterious  was  when  the 

body  of  horsemen,  just  previously  mentioned,  came  out  of 

the  ravine,  the  men  on  the  horses  seemed  to  be  dressed  in 

white,  and  as  they  came  on  to  high  ground,  deployed  a 

skirmish  line.    I  had  seen  Indians  form  a  line  of  battle 

occasionally,  but  it  was  not  common  for  them  to  do  so. 

After  they  had  advanced  within  three  hundred  or  four 

hundred  feet  of  us  we  were  still  undecided  who  they  were, 

but  they  acted  and  had  more  the  appearance  of  white  men 

than  Indians.    But  relief  we  hadn't  the  least  hope  of.    It 

was  hard  to  realize  that  any  assistance  could  possibly 

reach  us,  as  there  were  no  scouting  parties  out  that  we 

—113— 


knew  of,  and  we  had  every  reason  to  believe  Boyle  was 
killed  and  never  reached  the  fort.  This  body  of  men 
dressed  in  white  halted  about  three  hundred  feet  from  us 
and  stood  there  like  a  lot  of  ghosts.  (The  reader  must 
remember  this  was  in  the  night  time  and  we  could  not 
make  out  objects  plainly.  Had  it  been  daytime  we  could 
of  course  readily  have  seen  who  they  were). 

The  suspense  at  this  time  was  becoming  very  acute. 
I  told  the  men  I  would  risk  one  shot  at  them  and  end  the 
suspense.  But  at  this  Goodman  raised  his  head  and  look- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  horsemen  remarked,  "I  believe 
they  are  our  own  men;  don't  fire."  I  was  about  of  the 
same  opinion,  but  the  Indians  were  always  resorting  to 
some  trickery.  I  had  about  made  up  my  mind  they  were 
trying  to  deceive  us  and  make  us  think  they  were  white 
men.  Finally  one  of  them  hollered,  speaking  in  English, 
that  they  were  friends.  But  that  didn't  satisfy  me  as  the 
renegade  Bent  boys  were  with  the  Dog  Soldiers  and  could 
speak  good  English,  and  were  always  resorting  to  every 
conceivable  form  of  fraudulent  devices  to  get  the  advant- 
age of  white  people.  They  had  been  the  means  of  causing 
the  deaths  of  scores  of  people  in  this  way. 

At  this  time  each  one  of  our  party  was  prepared  to 

take  his  own  life  if  necessary,  rather  than  to  be  taken 

prisoner,  for  being  captured  only  meant  burning  at  the 

stake,  with  the  most  brutal  torture  conceivable.    We  knew 

we  did  not  have  sufficient  ammunition  to  resist  another 

charge,  and  if  we  fired  what  little  ammunition  we  had  we 

would  have  none  to  take  our  own  lives  with.  I  hollered 

to  one  of  the  horsemen  for  one  of  them  to  advance.    At 

once  a  horseman  came  riding  up  with  his  carbine  held 

over  his  head,  which  those  days  was  a  friendly  sign.  After 

he  came  up  within  about  fifty  feet,  I  recognized  Paddy 

Boyle,  as  though  he  had  risen  from  the  dead.  The  whole 

command  advanced  then  and  it  was  a  squadron  of  the 

Seventh  United  States  cavalry.    The  joy  experienced  in 

being  relieved  from  our  perilous  position  may  be  imagin- 

—114—. 


ed.  Shaking  hands  and  cheering  and  congratulations  were 
in  full  force.  Soon  after  the  cavalry  arrived,  it  might  have 
been  an  hour,  another  command  of  infantry  came  in  on  a 
run  with  wagons  and  ambulances,  and  accompanying 
them  was  a  government  doctor;  I  think  his  name  was 
Degraw,  post  surgeon,  and  a  noble  man  he  was.  He  had 
the  wounded  gently  cared  for  and  placed  in  the  ambu- 
lances and  they  received  the  kindest  of  attention  and  care 
in  the  hospital  at  Fort  Dodge  until  able  to  be  around, 
but  I  don't  think  any  of  them  ever  recovered  fully. 

It  might  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to  know  why 
these  horsemen  were  dressed  in  white,  as  I  have  previously 
mentioned.  It  was  an  ironclad  custom  in  those  strenuous 
and  thrilling  times  for  every  man  to  take  his  gun  to  bed 
with  him  or  "lay  on  their  arms,"  as  the  old  army  term 
gives  it,  loaded  and  ready  for  action  at  a  moment's  notice, 
with  their  cartridge  box  and  belt  within  their  reach.  The 
men  those  days  were  issued  white  cotton  flannel  under- 
clothes, and  as  the  weather  was  warm,  no  time  was  taken 
to  put  on  their  outside  clothes,  but  every  man  immediately 
rushed  to  the  stables  at  the  first  sound  of  the  bugle  which 
sounded  to  horses,  and  mounted  at  one  blast.  When  this 
call  was  sounded  it  was  known  that  an  extreme  emergency 
was  at  hand  and  men's  lives  in  jeopardy.  This  white 
underclothing  accounts  for  the  mysterious  look  of  the 
troopers  when  they  made  their  appearance  at  Little  Coon 
Creek,  and  the  mysterious  actions  of  the  squadron  in  not 
advancing  up  to  us  when  they  first  arrived,  can  be  ex- 
plained that  they  did  not  know  the  situation  of  affairs, 
as  there  was  no  firing  at  that  particular  time,  and  they 
were  using  extreme  caution  for  fear  they  would  run  into 
an  ambush,  of  part  of  the  Indians.  I  think,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  there  were  four  Indians  who  followed  Boyle  right 
up  to  the  east  picket  line  at  the  fort,  and  had  he  had  to 
go  a  mile  farther  he  never  could  have  made  it  to  the  fort. 
The  noble  dapple-grey  horse,  if  I  remember  rightly,  died 

from  the  effects  of  the  fierce  run  he  made  to  save  our  lives. 

—115— 


General  Alfred  Sully  who  was  at  that  time  in  com- 
mand of  the  troops  in  the  Department,  and  who  was  an 
old  and  successful  Indian  fighter,  issued  an  order  com- 
plimenting the  party  on  their  heroic  and  desperate  de- 
fense that  they  made  and  also  for  mine  and  Boyle's  action 
in  charging  through  the  Indians  to  their  assistance.  As 
there  were  scores  of  little  skirmishes,  and  some  big  ones 
taking  place  on  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail  all  the  time  at 
some  portion  of  it,  it  was  generally  conceded  that  the  Little 
Coon  Creek  engagement  was  the  most  desperate  fight 
for  anyone  to  come  out  alive.  There  were  probably  as 
desperate  ones  fought,  but  none  ever  lived  to  tell  it.  This 
is  the  only  instance  I  know  of  where  a  General  United 
States  Officer  had  an  order  issued  and  read  publicly  to 
the  troops  of  the  different  forts  in  the  Department,  com- 
mending the  participants  of  a  small  party  in  an  Indian 
fight  for  herioc  action.  How  any  of  the  party  ever  escaped 
is  a  mystery  to  me  today  and  always  has  been.  It  was 
reported  after  peace  was  declared  that  Satanta,  head  chief 
of  the  Kiowas,  admitted  that  in  the  Little  Coon  Creek 
fight  the  Indian  warrior  losses  were  twenty-two  killed  be- 
sides a  number  wounded.  I  did  not  count  the  number 
of  times  the  wagon  was  struck  with  arrows  and  bullets, 
but  parties  who  said  they  did  count  them  reported  the 
wagon  was  struck  five  hundred  times,  and  I  have  not  a 
doubt  that  this  is  true,  for  arrows  were  sticking  out  like 
quills  on  the  back  of  a  porcupine,  and  the  sideboards 
and  end  of  the  wagon  was  perforated  with  bullets.  The 
mules  were  riddled  with  bullets.  Two  pet  prairie  dogs 
which  the  boys  had  in  the  wagon  in  a  little  box  were  both 
killed.  The  general  order  which  was  issued  by  General 
Alfred  Sully,  only  mentions  four  Indians  being  killed, 
but  these  being  left  on  the  ground  were  all  that  could  be 
seen.  It  is  well  known  among  old  Indian  fighters  that 
Indians  on  the  war-path  and  losing  their  warriors  in 
battle  will  always  carry  off  their  dead  if  possible.    It  is 

very  often  their  custom  to  tie  their  buffalo  hide  lariats 

—116— 


around  their  body  or  connect  with  a  belt  and  the  other 
end  fastened  to  their  saddle  when  going  into  battle,  and 
then  if  they  are  shot  off  their  ponies,  their  ponies  were 
trained  to  drag  them  off,  or  at  least  until  some  of  their 
brother  warriors  came  to  his  assistance,  then  two  would 
come  up,  one  on  each  side,  on  a  dead  run,  reach  down 
and  grab  him.  If  he  was  attached  to  a  lariat,  they  would 
cut  it  in  an  instant  and  off  they  would  go,  but  it  was  a 
common  thing  for  the  rescuers  to  get  shot  in  their  herioc 
efforts  to  save  their  comrades.  I  have  witnessed  proceed- 
ings of  this  kind  a  number  of  times,  and  there  have  been 
many  instances  where  two  or  three  warriors  would  be 
shot  trying  to  rescue  a  comrade. 
-f      ^      f 

The  writer  saw  the  above-mentioned  wagon  after  it 
was  brought  into  Fort  Dodge,  and  it  was  literally  filled 
with  arrows  and  bullet  holes,  and  the  bottom  of  the  wagon 
bed  was  completely  covered  with  blood  as  were  the  ends 
and  sides  where  the  wounded  leaned  over  and  up  against 
them.  I  never  saw  a  butcher*s  wagon  that  was  any 
bloodier. 

Mr.  Herron  concludes  the  story  of  the  fight  as  fol- 
lows: 

SONG 

Calm  and  bright  shone  the  sun  on  the  morning. 

That  four  men  from  Fort  Dodge  marched  away, 
With  food  and  supplies  for  their  comrades — 

They  were  to  reach  Big  Coon  Creek  that  day; 
'Tis  a  day  we  shall  all  well  remember. 

That  gallant  and  brave  little  fight. 
How  they  struggled  and  won  it  so  bravely — 

Though  wounded,  still  fought  through  the  night. 
Chorus : 
So  let's  give  three  cheers  for  our  comrades, 

That  gallant  and  brave  little  band. 

Who,  against  odds,  would  never  surrender. 

But  bravely  by  their  arms  did  they  stand. 
—117— 


Fifty  Indians  surprised  them  while  marching, 

Their  scalps  tried  to  get,  but  in  vain; 
The  boys  repulsed  them  at  every  endeavor. 

They  were  men  who  were  up  to  their  game. 

"Though  the  red-skins  are  ten  times  our  number. 

We  coolly  on  each  other  rely." 
Said  the  corporal  in  charge  of  the  party, 

"We'll  conquer  the  foe  or  we'll  die!" 

Still  they  fought  with  a  wit  and  precision; 

Assistance  at  last  came  to  hand. 
Two  scouts  on  the  action  appearing, 

To  strengthen  the  weak  little  band. 
Then  one  charged  right  clear  through  the  Indians, 

To  Fort  Dodge  for  help  he  did  go, 
While  the  balance  still  kept  up  the  fighting. 

And  gallantly  beat  off  the  foe. 

A  squadron  of  cavalry  soon  mounted, 

Their  comrades  to  rescue  and  save. 
General  Sully,  he  issued  an  order, 

Applauding  their  conduct  so  brave. 
And  when  from  their  wounds  they  recover. 

Many  years  may  they  live  to  relate. 
The  fight  that  occured  in  September, 

In  the  year  eighteen  sixty-eight. 

This  song  was  composed  by  Fred  Haxby,  September, 
1868,  on  the  desperate  fight  at  Little  Coon  creek,  about 
thirty  miles  east  of  Fort  Dodge,  on  the  dry  route,  Sep- 
tember second,  1868.  Fred  Haxby,  or  Lord  Haxby,  as 
he  was  called,  was  from  England,  and  at  the  time  of  the 
fight  was  at  Fort  Dodge. 

The  song  gives  fifty  Indians  comprising  the  attacking 

party.    This  was  done  to  make  the  verses  rhyme,  as  I 

am  sure  there  were  many  more  than  this. 

—118— 


The  tune  this  song  was  sung  by,  nearly  a  half  a 
century  ago,  was  the  same  as  the  one  which  went  with 
the  song  commonly  known  at  that  time,  "When  Sherman 
Marched  Down  to  the  Sea."  Not,  "Sherman's  March 
Through  Georgia."  "Sherman's  March  Through  Geor- 
gia," and  "Sherman's  March  to  the  Sea,"  were  different 

songs  and  different  airs. 

#        #        # 

The  author  of  this  work  is  further  indebted  to  Mr. 
Herron  for  another  interesting  story  of  soldier  life  in  the 
wild  days^  It  runs  'as  follows: 

eAPTORMQ 'THE  BOX  FAMILY 
Capturing  the  Box  family  from  the  Indians  was  one 
of  the  interesting  events  which  took  place  at  Fort  Dodge, 
although  the  rescue  of  the  two  older  girls  took  place 
south  of  Fort  Dodge  near  the  Wichita  mountains,  per- 
haps near  two  hundred  miles.  But  the  idea  of  getting 
the  girls  away  from  the  Indians  originated  at  Fort  Dodge, 
with  Major  Sheridan,  who,  at  the  time,  October,  1866, 
was  in  command  of  the  fort.  At  this  time,  the  troops 
garrisoning  the  fort  consisted  of  Company  A,  Third 
United  States  infantry,  of  which  I  was  a  member,  holding 
a  non-commissioned  officer's  rank. 

On  a  sunshiny  day  about  the  first  of  October,  1866, 
the  sentinel  reported  what  appeared  to  be  a  small  party 
of  mounted  men,  approaching  the  fort  from  the  south 
side  of  the  Arkansas  river,  perhaps  two  miles  away,  and 
just  coming  into  sight  out  of  a  range  of  bluffs  which 
ran  parallel  with  the  river.  They  proved  to  be  Indians 
and  the  glittering  ornaments  with  which  each  was  deco- 
rated could  be  seen  before  either  the  Indians  or  their 
ponies.  After  the  Indians  came  down  to  the  river  and 
were  part  way  across,  a  guard,  consisting  of  a  corporal 
and  two  men,  met  them  at  the  north  bank  of  the  river, 
just  below  the  fort,  and  halted  them.  It  was  noticed  they 
carried  a  pole  to  which  was  attached  an  old  piece  of  what 

—119— 


had  one  time  been  a  white  wagon  cover,  but  which 
at  this  time  was  a  very  dirty  white.  This  was  to  repre- 
sent a  flag  of  truce  and  a  peaceful  mission,  which  idea 
they  had  got  from  the  whites,  though  the  Indians  were 
very  poor  respectors  of  flags  of  truce.  When  approached 
with  one  by  white  men,  they,  on  several  occasions,  killed 
the  bearers  of  the  flag,  scalped  them,  and  used  their  scalps 
to  adorn  their  wigwams.  They  considered  the  flag  a  kind 
of  joke  and  rated  the  bearer  as  an  easy  mark. 

The  guard  learned  from  the  Indians  that  they  were 
Kiowas,  old  chief  Satanta's  tribe.  Fred  Jones,  who  was 
Indian  interpreter  at  Fort  Dodge,  was  requested  to  come 
down  and  ascertain  what  was  wanted  The  Indians  in- 
formed Jones  that  they  had  two  pale-faced  squaws  whom 
they  wished  to  trade  for  guns,  ammunition,  coffee,  sugar, 
flour — really,  they  wanted  about  all  there  was  in  the  fort, 
as  they  set  a  very  high  value  on  the  two  girls. 

By  instructions  of  the  commanding  officer,  they  were 
permitted  to  come  into  the  fort  to  talk  the  matter  over. 
After  passing  the  pipe  around  and  each  person  in  council 
taking  a  puff,  which  was  the  customary  manner  of  pro- 
cedure, they  proceeded  to  negotiate  a  "swap,"  as  the  In- 
dians termed  it.  The  Indians  wanted  everything  in  sight, 
but  a  trade  or  swap  was  finally  consummated  by  promis- 
ing the  Indians  some  guns,  powder  and  lead,  some  coffee, 
sugar,  flour  and  a  few  trinkets,  consisting  mainly  of  block 
tin,  which  was  quite  a  bright,  glittering  tint.  This  was 
used  to  make  finger  rings,  earrings  and  bracelets  for  the 
squaws.  The  bracelets  were  worn  on  both  ankles  and 
arms  of  the  squaws  and,  when  fitted  out  with  their  buck- 
skin leggings  and  short  dresses,  covered  with  beads,  they 
made  a  very  attractive  appearance. 

The  Indians  knew  they  had  the  advantage  and  drove 
a  sharp  bargain — at  least,  they  thought  they  did.  They 
insisted  on  the  goods  being  delivered  to  their  camp  near 
the  Wichita  mountains,  which  was  quite  an  undertaking, 

—120— 


considering  that  a  white  man  had  never  been  in  that  sec- 
tion except  as  a  prisoner,  a  renegade,  or  possibly  an  in- 
terpreter. Two  wagons  and  an  ambulance  were  ordered 
to  be  got  ready,  and  the  wagons  were  loaded.  Our  party 
consisted  of  Lieutenant  Heselberger  of  Company  A.  Third 
United  States  infantry,  an  old  experienced  Indian  fighter, 
one  non-commissioned  officer,  (myself),  and  seven  pri- 
vates, with  Fred  Jones  as  interpreter.  We  crossed  the 
river  about  a  half  mile  below  Fort  Dodge  and  took  a 
southerly  course,  traveling  for  days  before  we  came  to 
the  Kiowa  camp.  One  evening,  just  as  the  sun  was  going 
down,  we  came  to  a  high  hill,  and  as  we  gained  the  crest, 
going  in  a  southeasterly  direction,  I  witnessed  the  most 
beautiful  sight  I  ever  saw. 

The  whole  Kiowa  tribe,  several  thousands  in  number, 
were  camped  on  the  banks  of  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water, 
half  a  mile  away.  The  sun  setting  and  the  sun's  rays 
reflecting  on  the  camp,  gave  it  a  fascinating  appearance. 
Hundreds  of  young  warriors,  mounted  on  their  beautiful 
ponies,  and  all  dressed  in  their  wild,  barbaric  costume, 
bedecked  with  glittering  ornaments,  were  drilling  and 
going  through  artistic  maneuvers  on  the  prairie,  making 
a  scene  none  of  us  will  ever  forget.  There  were  about 
three  hundred  lodges,  all  decorated  as  only  an  Indian 
could  decorate  them,  being  painted  with  many  gaudy 
colors.  Many  papooses  were  strapped  upon  the  more 
docile  ponies,  and,  under  the  guidance  of  some  warriors, 
were  getting  their  first  initiation  into  the  tactics  neces- 
sary to  become  a  warrior;  while  squaws  were  engaged  in 
tanning  buffalo  skins  and  going  through  the  different 
movements  necessary  to  a  well-organized  wild  Indian 
camp.  Small  fires  were  in  commission  in  different  parts 
of  the  camp,  with  little  ringlets  of  smoke  ascending  from 
them,  which,  in  the  calm,  lovely  evening,  made  an  exceed- 
ingly interesting  scene,  while  off  on  the  distant  hills 
thousands  of  buffalo  were  peacefully  grazing. 

—121— 


Right  here  let  me  say  that  I  have  seen  the  Russian 
Cossacks  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Volga,  in  southern 
Russia,  and,  w^hile  they  have  the  reputation  of  being  the 
finest  and  most  graceful  riders  in  the  world,  they  did  not 
compare,  for  fine  horsemanship,  with  the  American  In- 
dian of  fifty  years  ago. 

As  we  halted  and  took  in  this  beautiful  panorama, 
a  bugle  call  sounded,  clear  and  distinct,  in  the  Kiowa 
camp.  Three  or  four  hundred  young  warriors  mounted 
their  ponies,  the  charge  was  sounded,  and  they  came 
dashing  towards  us.  On  they  came,  keeping  as  straight 
a  line  as  any  soldiers  I  ever  saw.  When  about  three 
hundred  feet  from  us  and  just  as  we  were  reaching  for 
our  carbines  (for  everything  had  the  appearance  of  a 
massacre  of  our  little  party,  and  we  had  determined  when 
starting  on  this  venturesome  errand  that  if  the  Indians 
showed  treachery,  we  would  inflict  all  the  punishment  on 
them  we  possibly  could  before  they  got  us,  and  would 
shoot  ourselves  rather  than  be  captured  alive;  for  being 
captured  meant  burning  at  the  stake  and  the  most  ex- 
cruciating torture),  the  bugle  sounded  again,  the  Indians 
made  a  beautiful  move  and  filed  to  right  and  left  of  us, 
half  on  each  flank,  and  escorted  us  to  their  camp  which 
was  but  a  short  distance  away.  The  bugler  was  a  pro- 
fessional but  we  never  knew  who  he  was  as  he  never 
showed  himself  close  enough  to  us  to  be  recognizable, 
but  he  was  supposed  to  be  some  renegade.  On  other 
occasions,  when  a  battle  was  going  on,  these  bugle  calls 
were  heard.  At  the  battle  of  the  Arickaree  where  Roman 
Nose,  head  chief  of  the  Cheyennes  attacked  Forsythe's 
scouts,  the  bugle  was  heard  sounding  the  calls  all  through 
the  battle. 

The  night  we  arrived  at  the  Kiowa  camp  we  were 

located  on  the  banks  of  a  creek.    The  young  warriors 

commenced  to  annoy  us  in  all  manner  of  ways,  trying 

to  exasperate  us  to  resent  their  annoyances  so  they  could 

—122— 


have  an  excuse  to  make  an  attack  on  us.  At  this  time, 
Fred  Jones  and  Lieutenant  Heselberger,  who  had  been  up 
to  Satanta's  lodge,  came  to  our  camp  and,  seeing  the 
taunts  and  annoyances  to  which  we  were  being  subjected, 
admonished  us  not  to  resent  them,  for  if  we  did  the  whole 
party  would  be  massacred  or  made  prisoners  and  burned 
at  the  stake.  Jones,  the  interpreter,  immediately  went 
back  to  Satanta  and  reported  the  situation.  Satanta,  at 
once,  had  a  guard  of  old  warriors  thrown  around  us  and 
thus  saved  us  from  further  annoyances.  Not  that  Satanta 
was  any  too  good  or  had  any  love  for  us  that  he  should 
protect  us,  but  at  that  immediate  period  it  was  not  policy 
for  him  to  make  any  rash  movements. 

All  night  long  the  Indian  drums  were  continually 
thumping  and  the  Indians  were  having  a  big  dance  in 
their  council  chamber,  which  was  always  a  custom, 
among  the  wild  Indian  tribes,  when  any  unusual  event 
was  taking  place.  The  next  morning  we  were  up  bright 
and  early,  teams  were  hitched  to  the  wagons  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  center  of  the  Indian  camp  in  front  of  the 
council  chamber,  where  the  goods  were  unloaded.  The 
two  young  girls  were  then  turned  over  to  us  by  one  of  the 
chiefs.  They  were  a  pitiful  looking  sight.  They  had 
been  traded  from  one  chief  to  another  for  nearly  a  year, 
and  had  been  subjected  to  the  most  cruel  and  degrading 
treatment.  The  eldest  girl  gave  birth  to  a  half-breed  a 
short  time  after  their  rescue.  One  of  the  girls  was  seven- 
teen and  the  other  fourteen  years  old.  They  had  been 
captured  near  the  Texas  border  and  had  been  with  the 
Indians  some  time,  according  to  the  story  told  us.  The 
father,  a  man  by  the  name  of  Box,  the  mother,  and  their 
four  children  were  returning  to  their  home,  when  they 
were  overtaken  by  a  band  of  Indians.  The  Indians  killed 
Mr.  Box  because  he  refused  to  surrender;  the  youngest 
child  was  taken  by  the  heels  and  its  brain  beaten{  out 
against  a  tree;  the  mother  and  three  children  were  taken 

back  to  the  main  camp.  The  mother  and  youngest  child 

—123— 


were  taken  to  the  Apache  camp,  an  Apache  chief  pur- 
chasing them  from  the  Kiowas.  We  felt  confident  that, 
later  on,  we  would  get  possession  of  the  mother  and 
youngest  child,  for  the  Apaches  would  want  to  trade  too, 
when  they  learned  how  the  Kiowas  had  succeeded.  But 
the  articles  which  were  traded  to  the  Kiowas  were  of 
very  poor  quality.  The  guns  were  old,  disused  muzzle- 
loading  rifles;  the  powder  had  but  little  strength,  having 
lost  its  strength  and  a  man  would  be  quite  safe,  fifty  feet 
away  from  it  when  discharged ;  the  lead  was  simply  small 
iron  bars,  with  lead  coating;  but  the  Indians  seemed  to 
think  it  was  all  right,  as  they  didn't  do  much  kicking, 
but  people  who,  in  a  trade,  would  take  a  ten-cent  "shin- 
plaster"  in  preference  to  a  twenty-dollar  bill,  were  easy 
marks  to  deal  with. 

After  a  long,  hard  march,  we  finally  arrived  again  on 
the  banks  of  the  Arkansas  River,  which  we  had  had  little 
hopes  of  doing.  Knowing  the  treacherous  disposition  of 
the  Indians,  we  expected  they  would  lie  in  ambush  for  us, 
so  we  were  continually  on  the  alert  and  always  went  into 
camp  at  a  location  where  we  had  a  good  view  for  several 
rods  around  us.  It  took  Custer's  whole  Seventh  United 
States  cavalry,  in  the  winter  of  '68  and  '69,  to  get  some 
white  women  from  the  Indians,  and  the  way  he  succeeded 
was  by  getting  the  head  chiefs  to  hold  a  treaty,  then  tak- 
ing them  prisoners  and  holding  them  until  the  Indians 
surrendered  the  women.  Our  party's  going  into  the 
Indian  camp,  as  we  did,  was  a  very  hazardous  undertak- 
ing, and  the  only  reason  we  ever  got  back  was  that  the 
Apaches  had  the  other  two  members  of  the  Box  family, 
they  wanted  to  trade  for  them,  and  they  knew  if  they 
killed  us  the  trade  would  be  off.  Such  a  foolhardy 
undertaking  was  not  attempted  again,  to  my  knowledge, 
in  the  years  I  was  on  the  plains. 

When  we  arrived  at  Fort  Dodge,  we  were  given  a 
very  pleasant  reception,  and  the  young  ladies  received 
the  tenderest  care,  but  were  naturally  terribly  distressed 

—124— 


at  their  terrible  sorrow  and  affliction.  General  Sherman, 
at  this  time,  arrived  at  Fort  Dodge.  He  had  been  on  a 
tour  of  inspection  of  the  frontier  forts,  and  was  then  on 
his  way  to  Washington.  After  learning  what  the  com- 
manding officer  had  done,  he  instructed  him  not  to  send 
any  more  details  on  so  hazardous  an  undertaking,  and 
not  to  trade  any  more  goods  for  prisoners,  as  it  would 
only  have  the  tendency  to  encourage  the  Indians  to  more 
stealing. 

As  we  expected,  a  few  days  after  our  return  to  Fort 
Dodge  the  sentry  reported  a  party  approaching  from  east 
of  the  fort.  All  that  could  be  seen  was  the  glittering, 
bright  ornaments,  dazzling  in  the  sunlight,  but  shortly, 
the  party  approached  close  enough  for  it  to  be  seen  that 
they  were  Indians.  They  proved  to  be  a  party  of  Apaches, 
as  we  expected,  chief  Poor  Bear  being  with  them.  When 
he  was  informed  that  the  Indians  were  coming.  Major 
Andrew  Sheridan,  who  was  still  in  command  of  Fort 
Dodge,  sent  the  interpreter,  Fred  Jones,  out  to  meet  them 
and  arrange  with  the  head  chief.  Poor  Bear,  to  come  into 
the  fort  and  hold  a  council,  a  customary  thing  in  those 
days,  when  a  trade  was  to  be  made. 

Fort  Dodge  was  located  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Arkansas  River,  and  was  in  the  shape  of  a  half  circle. 
Close  to  the  river  was  a  clay  bank  about  twelve  feet  high, 
where  were  a  number  of  dugouts,  with  port-holes  all 
around,  in  which  the  men  were  quartered,  so  that,  if 
the  Indians  ever  charged  and  took  the  fort,  the  men 
could  fall  back  and  retire  to  the  dugouts.  On  the  east 
side  of  the  fort  was  a  large  gate.  The  officers  were  quar- 
tered in  sod  houses,  located  inside  the  inclosure.  When 
Poor  Bear  and  his  warriors  came  into  the  fort.  Major 
Sheridan  informed  them  that  the  great  chief,  meaning 
General  Sherman,  had  given  instructions  that  no  more 
goods  would  be  delivered  to  the  Indian  camp  in  trade  for 

white  women,  but  if  the  woman  and  daughter  were 

—125— 


brought  in,  a  council  would  be  held  to  determine  what 
could  be  done.  At  this,  the  Indians  left  for  their  camp  to 
report  progress.  In  about  two  weeks,  we  noticed  Indians 
by  the  score,  crossing  from  the  south  side  of  the  river, 
below  the  fort  about  a  mile,  near  where  the  old  dry  route 
formed  a  junction  with  the  wet  route.  A  guard  at  once 
was  instructed  to  notify  the  Indians  that  they  must  not 
come  any  nearer  the  fort  than  they  were,  but  must  camp 
at  a  place  designated  by  the  commanding  officer,  nearly 
a  mile  below  Fort  Dodge. 

The  Indians  proved  to  be  Apaches  and  the  whole 
tribe  came  in,  numbering  about  two  thousand.  They  had 
brought  along  the  white  woman,  Mrs.  Box,  and  her  young 
daughter,  expecting  to  make  a  big  "swap."  There  was 
no  intention  of  giving  anything  for  them,  but  there  was  a 
plot  to  get  the  Indians  in,  gain  possession  of  the  chiefs 
and  head  men  of  the  Apache  tribe,  and  hold  them  as 
hostages  until  they  would  consent  to  surrender  the  woman 
and  child.  It  was  a  desperate  and  dangerous  experiment, 
for  the  Indians  outnumbered  us  greatly.  I  don't  think, 
at  this  time,  there  were  over  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  men,  altogether,  at  Fort  Dodge,  including  civilians, 
and  against  these  was  one  of  the  most  desperate  tribes  on 
the  plains.  When  the  time  arrived  for  the  council,  about 
a  hundred  of  the  chiefs,  medicine  men,  and  leading  men 
of  the  Indians  were  let  in  through  the  big  gate  at  the 
east  side  of  the  fort.  As  soon  as  they  were  inside,  the 
gate  was  closed.  When  they  were  all  ready  for  the  big 
talk,  and  the  customary  pipe  had  been  passed  around, 
Major  Sheridan  instructed  the  interpreter  to  inform  the 
Indians  that  they  were  prisoners,  and  that  they  would 
be  held  as  hostages  until  Mrs.  Box  and  her  daughter  were 
brought  in  and  turned  over  to  him. 

The  Indians  jumped  to  their  feet  in  an  instant,  threw 
aside  their  blankets,  and  prepared  for  a  fight.  Prior  to 
the  time  the  Indians  were  admitted  into  the  fort  inclosure, 
the  mountain  howitzers  had  been  doubled-shotted  with 

—126— 


grape  and  canister,  the  guns  being  depressed  so  as  to 
sweep  the  ground  where  the  Indians  were  located.  Some 
of  the  soldiers  were  marching  back  and  forth,  with  guns 
loaded  and  bayonets  fixed,  while  a  number  of  others,  with 
revolvers  concealed  under  their  blouses,  were  sitting 
around  watching  the  proceedings.  The  main  portion  of 
the  garrison  was  concealed  in  the  dugouts,  the  men  all 
armed  and  provided  with  one  hundred  rounds  of  am- 
munition per  man.  The  Indians  were  all  armed  with  tom- 
ahawks which  they  had  carefully  concealed  under  their 
blankets.  When  they  were  informed  that  they  were 
prisoners,  they  made  a  dash  for  the  soldiers  in  sight,  as 
they  were  but  few,  the  majority,  as  has  been  said,  being 
hid  in  the  dugouts;  but  when  the  men  came  pouring  out 
of  the  dugouts  and  opened  fire,  the  Indians  fell  back  and 
surrendered.  One  of  the  old  chiefs  was  taken  up  on  the 
palisades  of  the  fort  and  compelled  to  signal  to  his  war- 
riors in  their  camp.  In  less  than  thirty  minutes  Mrs.  Box 
and  her  child  were  brought  to  the  big  east  gate,  and  one  of 
the  most  affecting  sights  I  ever  witnessed  was  that  of  the 
mother  and  girls  as  they  met  and  embraced  each  other. 
It  was  a  sight  once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Major  Sheridan  then  told  the  interpreter  to  inform 
the  Indians  that  they  could  go,  warning  them  not  to  steal 
any  more  women  or  children.  But  the  warning  was  of  no 
avail,  for  the  next  two  years  the  frontier  was  terribly 
annoyed  by  Indian  raids  and  depredations. 

There  were  but  few  fatalities  when  the  soldiers 
opened  fire  on  the  Indians  at  the  fort,  as  it  was  done 
more  to  intimidate  than  to  kill.  A  representative  of 
Harper's  Weekly  was  at  Fort  Dodge,  at  the  time,  and 
took  a  number  of  photographs  of  the  Indians  and  the  Box 
family,  but  if  there  are  any  of  the  pictures  in  existence 
today,  I  am  not  aware  of  it,  but  I  should  like  to  have  them 
if  they  exist.  This  piece  of  diplomacy  on  the  part  of  the 
commanding  officer  of  Fort  Dodge  cost  scores  of  lives 

—127— 


afterwards,  for  those  Apaches  went  on  the  war-path  and 
murdered  every  person  they  came  across,  until  the  Seventh 
United  States  cavalry  caught  up  with  and  annihilated 
many  of  them,  in  the  Wichita  mountains,  in  November, 
1868. 

All  the  great  expeditions  against  the  Indians,  horse 
thieves,  and  bad  men  were  organized  and  fitted  out  at 
Fort  Dodge  or  Dodge  City,  because,  as  I  remark  else- 
where, they  were  at  the  edge  of  the  last  great  frontier  or 
the  jumping-off  place,  the  beginning  and  the  end — the 
end  of  civilization,  and  the  beginning  of  the  badness  and 
lawlessness  of  the  frontier.  Here  civilization  ended  and 
lawlessness  began. 

This  gave  rise  to  and  the  necessity  for  many  great 
and  notable  men  coming  to  Dodge,  such  as  Generals  Sher- 
man, Sheridan,  Hancock,  Miles,  Custer,  Sully,  and  many 
others,  even  including  President  Hayes.  Dodge  was  ac- 
quainted with  all  of  these,  besides  dukes  and  lords  from 
over  the  water,  who  came  out  of  curiosity.  We  feel  proud 
that  she  knew  these  men,  and  General  Miles  told  the 
writer  that  Fort  Dodge  should  have  been  made  one  of  our 
largest  forts,  at  least  a  ten-company  post.  But  he  did 
not  take  in  the  situation  in  time,  as  it  was  the  key  to 
all  the  country  south  of  us,  and,  had  it  been  made  a  ten- 
or twelve-company  post,  one  can  easily  see  how  the  garri- 
son could  have  controlled  all  the  Indian  tribes  south,  who 
were  continually  escaping  from  their  agencies  and  going 
north,  to  visit,  intrigue,  and  combine  with  the  northern 
Indians,  the  northern  tribes  doing  the  same  thing  when 
they  went  south.  The  troops  could  have  intercepted  the 
Indians  either  way,  and  cut  them  off  and  sent  them  back 
before  they  were  able  to  do  any  devilment.  Particularly 
could  this  have  been  done  when  Dull  Knife  and  Wild 
Hog  made  their  last  raid  through  Kansas.  There  were 
only  about  seventy-five  warriors,  besides  their  women  and 
children,  in  this  little  band,  but  they  managed  to  make  a 

—128— 


City  Hall 


>?' 


laughing  stock  and  a  disgrace  of  our  troops;  at  least,  so 
,  it  appeared  from  the  actions  of  the  officers  who  were  sent 
after  them. 

In  September,  1868,  at  the  DarHngton  Agency,  there 
were,  under  the  leadership  of  Wild  Hog  and  Dull  Knife, 
a  small  bunch  of  Cheyenne  Indians,  who  had  been  moved 
from  their  northern  agency  and,  for  various  reasons,  were 
determined  to  go  back,  much  against  the  wishes  and 
orders  of  the  United  States  government  and  also  their 
agent,  who  positively  forbade  their  going.  They  had 
secretly  been  making  preparations  for  this  tramp,  for 
some  time,  but  they  had  no  horses,  but  few  guns  and 
ammunition,  and  very  little  provisions  of  any  kind.  Now, 
under  these  adverse  circumstances,  they  stole  away. 

As  has  been  said,  there  were  only  seventy-five  war- 
riors all  told,  outside  of  their  women  and  children.  Their 
first  care  was  to  get  themselves  mounts,  then  arms  and 
ammunition,  and  provisions.  Little  by  little,  they  stole 
horses  and  picked  up  guns  and  ammunition  from  the 
cattle  camps  and  deserted  homes  of  the  frontier  settlers, 
so,  when  they  got  within  forty  miles  of  Fort  Dodge, 
south,  they  were  supplied  with  horses,  and  fairly  well 
supplied  with  their  other  wants. 

On  Sand  Creek,  they  were  confronted  with  two  com- 
panies of  cavalry  and  several  parts  of  companies  of  in- 
fantry, with  wagon  transportation.  These  soldiers  out- 
numbered the  Indians  nearly  three  to  one;  besides,  quite 
a  lot  of  settlers  and  some  cowboys  had  joined  the  troops. 
To  be  sure,  the  settlers  were  poorly  armed,  but  they  were 
of  assistance,  in  some  ways,  to  the  troops. 

On  their  march,  the  Indians  had  scattered  over  a 
large  scope  of  country.  That  is,  the  warriors  did,  while 
the  women  and  children  kept  straight  on  in  the  general 
direction  they  wanted  to  go.  But  the  warriors  raided 
and  foraged  some  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  on  either  side 
of  the  women  and  children,  and  at  night  they  would  all 
rendezvous  together.     This  gave  rise  to  the  erroneous 

—129— 


impression  that  the  band  was  very  much  larger  than  it 
was.  In  fact,  there  were  supposed  to  be  several  hundred 
warriors,  and  this  reckoned  greatly  in  their  favor.  The 
bold  daring  front  that  they  assumed  was  another  big 
thing  in  their  favor,  and  made  the  troops  and  others  be- 
lieve there  were  many  more  of  them  than  there  were. 
When  they  were  confronted  with  the  troops  on  Sand 
Creek,  they  stopped  in  the  bluffs  and  fortified,  while  the 
troops  camped  in  the  bottom  to  watch  their  movements 
and  hold  them  in  check.  But  the  cowboys  said  that  the 
Indians  only  stopped  a  short  time,  and,  when  night  came, 
they  broke  camp  and  left  the  troops  behind.  The  soldiers 
did  not  find  this  out  for  nearly  two  days,  and,  in  this 
maneuver,  they  had  nearly  two  days  the  start  of  the 
soldiers. 

The  Indians,  next  day,  trailed  by  Belle  Meade,  a 
little  settlement,  where  they  were  given  a  fine  beef  just 
killed.  Strange  to  say,  they  disturbed  no  on  here,  except 
taking  what  arms  they  could  find  and  some  more 
"chuck".  Up  to  this  time,  they  had  killed  only  two  or 
three  people.  Starting  off,  they  saw  a  citizen  of  Belle 
Meade,  driving  a  span  of  mules  and  wagon,  coming 
home.  They  killed  him  and  took  his  mules  and  harness, 
after  scalping  him.  This  was  done  in  sight  of  the  town. 
A  few  miles  further  on,  they  espied  another  wagon,  and, 
after  chasing  it  within  ten  miles  of  Dodge,  the  driver  was 
killed  and  his  mules  and  harness  taken;  and  so  on. 
They  raided  within  a  few  miles  of  Dodge.  Twelve  were 
seen  four  miles  west  of  Dodge,  on  an  island,  where  they 
plundered  and  burned  a  squatter's  house.  The  Dodge 
people  had  sent  out  and  brought  every  one  in  for  miles 
around,  which  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  the  Indians  did 
not  kill  more  people  close  to  Dodge. 

I  here  quote  largely  from  an  enlisted  man,  stationed 
at  Fort  Supply,  more  than  a  month  after  this  Indian  raid 
through  Kansas  and  Nebraska  was  over,  so  he  had  time 
to  look  calmly  over  the  situation,  and  the  excitement  had 

—130— 


died  down.  As  his  views  and  mine  are  so  nearly  alike, 
I  give  the  most  of  his  version.  He  says: 

"Field-marshal  Dull  Knife  outgeneraling  the  grand 
pacha  of  the  United  States  army,  and  reaching,  in  safety, 
the  goal  of  his  anticipations,  being,  it  is  said,  snugly 
ensconced  among  his  old  familiar  haunts  in  Wyoming 
and  Dakota.  Without  casting  the  least  reflection  upon  or 
detracting  a  single  thing  from  the  ability,  loyalty,  or 
bravery  of  our  little  army,  it  must  be  said,  that  the  escape 
of  Dull  Knife  and  his  followers,  from  the  Cheyenne 
Agency,  and  their  ultimate  success  in  reaching  Dakota 
territory,  is  certainly  a  very  remarkable  occurrence  in  the 
annals  of  military  movements.  I  have  no  definite  means 
of  giving  the  exact  number  of  Dull  Knife's  force,  but, 
from  the  most  reliable  information,  it  did  not  exceed  one 
hundred  warriors  (this  is  about  Agent  Mile's  estimate). 
Dull  Knife's  movements,  immediately  after  he  left  the 
reservation,  were  not  unknown  to  the  military  authorities. 
He  was  pursued  and  overtaken  by  two  companies  of 
cavalry,  within  sixty  miles  of  the  agency  he  had  left. 
He  there  gave  battle,  killing  three  soldiers,  wounding 
as  many  more,  and,  if  reports  of  eye  witnesses  are  to  be 
believed,  striking  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  remainder, 
completely  routing  them.  All  the  heads  of  the  military 
in  the  Department  of  the  Missouri  were  immediately 
informed  of  the  situation,  and  yet.  Dull  Knife  passed 
speedily  on,  passing  in  close  proximity  to  several  military 
posts,  and  actually  marching  a  portion  of  the  route 
along  the  public  highway,  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail,  robbing 
emigrant  trains,  murdering  defenseless  men,  women,  and 
children  as  their  fancy  seemed  to  dictate,  and,  at  last, 
arriving  at  their  destination  unscathed,  and  is,  no  doubt, 
ere  this,  in  conference  with  his  friend  and  ally,  Sitting 
Bull,  as  to  the  most  practicable  manner  of  subjugating 
the  Black  Hills. 

"While  we  look  the  matter  squarely  in  the  face,  it 
must  be  conceded  that  Dull  Knife  has  achieved  one  of 

—131— 


the  most  extraordinary  coup  d*etat  of  modern  times,  and 
has  made  a  march  before  which  even  Sherman's  march 
to  the  sea  pales.  With  a  force  of  a  hundred  men,  this 
untutored  but  wily  savage  encounters  and  defeats,  eludes, 
baffles,  and  outgenerals  ten  times  his  number  of  Ameri- 
can soldiers.  At  one  time  during  his  march,  there  were 
no  less  than  twenty-four  companies  of  cavalry  and  in- 
fantry in  the  field  against  him,  and  he  marched  a  dis- 
tance of  a  thousand  miles,  almost  unmolested.  Of  course, 
most  of  the  country  he  passed  through  was  sparsely  set- 
tled, but,  with  the  number  of  military  posts  (six),  lying 
almost  directly  in  his  path,  and  the  great  number  of 
cattle  men,  cowboys,  freighters,  etc.,  scattered  over  the 
plains,  that  came  in  contact  with  his  band,  it  does  seem 
strange  that  he  slipped  through  the  schemes  and  plans 
that  were  so  well  laid  to  entrap  him.  However,  Dull 
Knife  has  thoroughly  demonstrated  the  fact  that  a  hun- 
dred desperate  warriors  can  raid  successfully  through  a 
thousand  miles  of  territory,  lying  partly  in  Dakota,  Ne- 
braska, Kansas,  and  the  Indian  Territory,  steal  stock,  and 
perpetrate  outrages  too  vile  and  horrible  to  print;  and 
this  in  the  face  of  ten  times  their  number  of  well-equipped 
United  States  troops.  That  some  one  is  highly  repre- 
hensible in  the  matter  of  not  capturing  or  annihilating 
Dull  Knife  and  his  entire  band  is  believed  by  all,  but  who 
the  culpable  party  is  will  probably  never  be  placed  on  the 
pages  of  history. 

"The  cause  that  led  to  the  outbreak  is  the  same  old 
story — goaded  into  desperation  by  starvation  at  the  hands 
of  the  Indian  agents.  There  are  no  buffalo  anywhere  near 
the  agency,  and  this  same  band  were  allowed,  last  fall 
and  winter,  to  go  from  their  reservation  to  hunt,  to 
supply  themselves  with  meat.  They  did  not  find  a 
single  buffalo.  A  portion  of  them  killed  and  ate  their 
ponies,  and  the  remainder  feasted  on  their  dogs.  An 
Indian  never  eats  his  dog  except  when  served  up  on  state 
occasions,  and  their  puppies  are  considered  a  great  deli- 

—132— 


cacy.  They  only  feed  these  to  their  distinguished  guests, 
at  great  night  feasts.  They  consider  they  are  doing  you 
a  great  honor  when  they  prepare  a  feast  of  this  kind  for 
you,  and  they  are  badly  hurt  and  mortified  if  you  do 
not  partake  freely  of  same.  Dull  Knife  appealed  so  per- 
sistently for  aid,  the  commanding  officer  ordered  a  few 
rations  to  be  given  them  (which  military  establishments 
have  no  authority  to  do).  These  were  eagerly  accepted 
and  greedily  devoured. 

"After  soldiering,  as  a  private,  ten  years  on  the  plains, 
I  am  convinced  that  a  majority  of  the  Indian  raids  have 
been  caused  by  the  vacillating  policy  of  the  government, 
coupled  with  the  avaricious,  and  dishonest  agents.  I  do 
not  pretend  to  hold  the  Indian  up  as  an  object  of  sym- 
pathy. On  the  contrary,  I  think  they  are  treacherous, 
deceitful,  black-hearted,  murdering  villians.  But  we 
should  deal  fair  with  them  and  set  them  an  example  for 
truthfulness  and  honesty,  instead  of  our  agents,  and 
others  in  authority,  being  allowed  to  rob  them.  Two 
wrongs  never  made  a  right,  and  no  matter  what  wrongs 
they  have  committed,  we  should  live  strictly  up  to  our 
promises  with  them." 

I  will  give  only  a  brief  account  of  this  raid  through 
our  state,  from  my  own  memory.  I  was  on  my  way  to 
Boston  to  sell  a  lot  of  buffalo  robes  we  had  stored  there. 
At  Kansas  City  I  received  a  telegram  from  my  firm,  say- 
ing, "Indians  are  out;  coming  this  way;  big  Indian  war 
expected."  I  returned  to  Dodge  at  once,  found  everything 
in  turmoil,  and  big  excitement.  After  getting  the  news 
and  advice  from  Colonel  Lewis,  commander  of  Fort 
Dodge  (v/ho  was  well  posted,  up  to  that  time,  in  regard 
to  the  whereabouts  of  these  Indians,  though  he  had  no 
idea  of  their  number,  supposing  them  to  be  a  great  many 
more  than  there  were),  William  Tighlman,  Joshua  Webb, 
A.  J.  Anthony,  and  myself  started  southwest,  thinking  to 
overtake  and  join  the  troops  already  in  the  field.  We 
made  fifty  miles  that  day,  when  we  met  a  lot  of  farmers 

—133— 


coming  back.  They  said  the  Indians  made  stand  against 
the  soldiers,  in  the  bluffs  on  Sand  Creek.  The  soldiers 
camped  a  short  distance  down  the  creek,  for  two  days, 
when  they  made  a  reconnaissance  and  found  the  Indians 
had  been  gone  for  nearly  two  days,  while  the  troops 
thought  they  were  still  there  and  were  afraid  to  move 
out.  But  it  seems  the  Indians  broke  camp  the  first  night, 
and  were  nearly  two  days'  march  ahead  of  the  troops. 
Captain  Randebrook  in  command,  trailing  on  behind 
them. 

Before  our  little  company  started,  Colonel  Lewis  re- 
quested me  to  report  to  him  immediately  upon  our  re- 
turn, which  I  did.  When  he  heard  the  story  of  the  cow- 
boys and  settlers  who  were  on  Sand  Creek  with  the 
troops,  and  how  cowardly  the  officers  had  acted  in  letting 
the  Indians  escape  them  when  there  was  such  a  fine  op- 
portunity to  capture  them,  Colonel  Lewis  was  utterly  dis- 
gusted. I  never  saw  a  more  disgusted  man.  He  didn't 
swear,  but  he  thought  pretty  hard,  and  he  said:  "Wright, 
I  am  going  to  take  the  field  myself  and  at  once,  and,  on 
my  return,  you  will  hear  a  different  story."  Poor  fellow! 
He  never  returned.  The  troops  just  trailed  on  behind 
the  Indians,  when  they  crossed  the  Arkansas,  and  fol- 
lowed on,  a  short  distance  behind  them,  until  Colonel 
Lewis  joined  them  and  took  command. 

And  now  I'll  tell  the  story,  as  told  to  me,  about  tfie 
killing  of  Colonel  Lewis,  as  gallant  an  officer  as  ever 
wore  a  sword.  The  troops,  with  Colonel  Lewis  in  com- 
mand, overtook  the  Indians  this  side  of  White  Woman 
creek,  and  pressed  them  so  closely  they  had  to  concen- 
trate and  make  a  stand.  Lewis  did  the  same.  Late  in 
the  afternoon,  he  made  every  arrangment  to  attack  their 
camp  at  daybreak  next  morning,  having  posted  the  troops 
and  surrounded  the  Indians  as  near  as  possible.  Colonel 
Lewis  attended  to  every  little  detail,  to  make  the  attack 
next  morning  a  success,  and  they  were  to  attack  from  all 
sides  at  the  same  time,  at  a  given  signal.    About  the  last 

—134— 


thing  he  did,  before  going  to  headquarters  for  the  night, 
he  visited  one  of  the  furthest  outposts,  where  a  single 
guard  was  concealed.  Colonel  Lewis  had  to  crawl  to  get 
to  him.  The  guard  said  the  Colonel  was  anxious  to  shoot 
an  Indian  who  was  on  post  and  very  saucy.  The 
guard  said,  "Colonel,  you  must  not  raise  up.  These  out- 
posts and  sharp  shooters  are  just  waiting  for  us  to  expose 
ourselves,  and  that  fellow  is  acting  as  a  blind,  for  others 
to  get  a  chance  at  us."  But  the  Colonel  persisted.  He 
said  he  wanted  to  stir  them  up;  and,  just  as  he  rose  up, 
before  he  got  his  gun  to  his  shoulder,  he  was  shot  down. 
They  had  to  crawl  to  Colonel  Lewis  and  drag  him  out  on 
their  hands  and  knees.  The  surgeon  in  charge  knew  he 
would  die,  and  started  with  him  at  once  for  Fort  Wallace, 
but  he  died  before  reaching  that  post.  This  happened 
about  dark,  and  the  news  soon  spread  throughout  the 
camp — Colonel  Lewis  was  killed — which  had  a  great  de- 
moralizing effect  upon  the  troops,  as  they  knew  he  was 
a  brave  man  and  liked  him  and  had  great  confidence  in 
his  ability.  His  orders  were  never  carried  out,  and  the 
attack  was  not  made.  The  Indians  broke  camp  and 
marched  away  next  morning,  but,  from  the  signs  they 
left  behind,  it  was  very  evident  they  would  not  have  made 
much  of  a  fight.  Indeed,  I  have  been  told  there  was  a 
flag  of  truce  found  in  their  camp.  This  was  vouched  for 
by  several,  and  there  were  evidences  that  they  intended 
to  surrender,  and  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  writer  they 
intended  to  surrender.  Anyhow,  I  do  think,  if  Colonel 
Lewis  had  lived,  they  would  have  been  so  badly  whipped 
they  never  would  have  got  any  further  north,  and  the 
lives  of  all  those  people,  who  were  killed  on  the  Sappa 
and  after  they  crossed  the  Missouri,  Pacific  Railroad, 
would  have  been  saved.  I  think  they  killed  about  forty 
people,  after  they  left  White  Woman  creek.  The  farmers 
and  citizens,  who  were  along  with  the  soldiers,  censure 
the  two  cavalry  captains  severely  and  claim  they  acted 
cowardly,  several  times  and  at  several  places.    They,  I 

—135— 


believe,  were  both  tried  for  cowardice,  but  were  acquitted 
after  a  fair  trial. 

Our  citizens  of  Dodge  City,  as  well  as  his  brother 
officers  and  the  enlisted  men  under  his  command,  held 
Colonel  Lewis  in  great  respect,  as  the  following  resolu- 
tions, presented  by  the  enlisted  men,  assembled  in  a  meet- 
ing for  the  purpose,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  will  show: 

"Whereas,  the  sad  news  has  been  brought  to  us  of  the 
death,  on  the  field  of  battle  against  hostile  Indians,  of 
our  late  commanding  officer.  Lieutenant  Colonel  William 
H.  Lewis,  Nineteenth  United  States  infantry; 

"Be  it  resolved,  that  his  death  is  felt  as  a  great  calam- 
ity to  the  army  of  the  United  States,  as  well  as  for  his 
family,  to  whom  we  tender  our  most  heartfelt  sympathy, 
and  that  we  deplore,  in  his  demise  the  loss  of  one  of 
the  kindest,  bravest,  and  most  impartial  commanders  to 
be  found  in  the  service; 

"And  be  it  further  resolved,  that  these  resolutions 
be  published  in  the  'Army  and  Navy  Journal,'  the  Wash- 
ington and  Leavenworth  papers,  the  'Ford  County  Globe,' 
and  the  'Dodge  City  Times,'  and  a  copy  be  sent  to  his 
relatives. 

"THOMAS  G.  DENNEN, 

"Ordnance  Sergeant,  President, 
"LOUIS  PAULY, 
"Hospital  Steward,  Secretary." 

The  meeting  then  adjourned. 

The  old  servant,  who  had  been  with  Colonel  Lewis 
for  many  years  and  was  greatly  attached  to  him,  could 
not  be  comforted  after  his  master's  death.  He  wept  and 
mourned  as  if  he  had  lost  a  near  relative.  After  the  Col- 
onel had  received  his  mortal  wound  and  knew  that  he 
must  die,  he  instructed  his  attendants  to  tell  the  old 
servant  to  go  to  his  mother's,  where  he  would  find  a  home 
for  the  balance  of  his  days.  Accordingly,  after  all  the 
business  at  Fort  Dodge  had  been  settled,  he  started,  with 
a  heavy  heart,  for  his  new  home.   He  said  he  knew  he 

—136— 


would  have  a  nice  home  in  which  to  spend  his  last  days, 
but  that  would  not  bring  his  old  master  back.  There  is 
nothing  that  speaks  plainer  of  the  true  man,  than  the  dis- 
interested devotion  of  his  servants. 

Long  years  afterwards,  when  the  veterans  of  the 
Civil  War,  living  at  Fort  Dodge,  organized  a  post  of  the 
Grand  Army  of  the  Republic,  they  named  it  the  Lewis 
Post,  in  honor  of  the  brave  but  unfortunate  Colonel. 

Referring  again  to  the  subject  of  General  Miles' 
opinion  that  Fort  Dodge  should  have  been  at  least  a  ten- 
company  post,  it  might  be  added  that  the  General,  with 
that  very  purpose  in  mind,  visited  the  fort,  several  years 
after  its  abandonment.  I  was  living  there  at  the  time, 
being  appointed  by  the  government  to  take  charge  of  the 
property  left  there,  and  see  to  the  care  of  the  buildings. 
I  drove  him  down,  and  he  took  lunch  with  me.  He  said: 
"Wright,  your  Dodge  people  made  a  big  mistake  when 
you  placed  your  smallpox  patients  in  the  old  hospital." 
You  see,  Dodge  City  was  visited  once  with  smallpox,  and 
it  raged  pretty  strongly.  A  great  many  of  our  people 
took  it,  and  it  was  so  violent  and  virulent  that  it  carried 
off  not  a  few.  Mayor  Webster  seized  the  old  military 
hospital  and  had  the  patients  quarantined  in  it. 

The  General  further  said:  "I  see  Fort  Dodge's  great 
military  importance,  and  I  would  like  to  garrison  it  to 
its  full  capacity  and  would  do  so;  but,  Wright,  you  know, 
if  a  single  soldier  died  there  from  smallpox,  even  years 
from  now,  the  press  of  the  country  would  get  up  and 
howl,  and  censure  me  ever  so  severely  for  subjecting  the 
army  to  this  terrible  disease.  I  can't  afford  to  take  such 
chances."  General  Miles  was  right;  this  is  just  what 
would  have  been  done,  if  the  smallpox  had  ever  broken 
out. 


—137— 


Chapter  VII. 

The  Beginnings  of  Dodge  City 

TT  has  already  been  said  that  Dodge  City  was  established 
•*■  in  1872,  upon  the  advent  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  & 
Santa  Fe  Railroad.  Dodge  was  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
buffalo  country.  Hardly  had  the  railroad  reached  there, 
long  before  a  depot  could  be  built  (they  had  an  office 
in  a  box  car),  business  began;  and  such  a  business!  Doz- 
ens of  cars  a  day  were  loaded  with  hides  and  meat,  and 
dozens  of  carloads  of  grain,  flour,  and  provisions  arrived 
each  day.  The  streets  of  Dodge  were  lined  with  wagons, 
bringing  in  hides  and  meat  and  getting  supplies  from 
early  morning  to  late  at  night. 

Charles  Rath  &  Company  ordered  from  Long  Broth- 
ers, of  Kansas  City,  two  hundred  cases  of  baking-powder 
at  one  order.  They  went  to  Colonel  W.  F.  Askew,  to 
whom  we  were  shipping  immense  quantities  of  hides, 
and  said:  "These  men  must  be  crazy,  or  else  they  mean 
two  hundred  boxes  instead  of  cases."  They  said  there 
were  not  two  hundred  cases  in  the  city.  Askew  wired  us 
if  we  had  not  made  a  mistake.  We  answered,  "No; 
double  the  order."  Askew  was  out  a  short  time  after 
that  and  saw  six  or  eight  carloads  of  flour  stacked  up  in 
the  warehouse.  He  said  he  now  understood.  It  was  to 
bake  this  flour  up  into  bread. 

I  have  been  to  several  mining  camps  where  rich 
strikes  had  been  made,  but  I  never  saw  any  town  to  equal 
Dodge.  A  good  hunter  would  make  a  hundred  dollars  a 
day.  Everyone  had  money  to  throw  at  the  birds.  There 
was  no  article  less  than  a  quarter — a  drink  was  a  quarter, 
a  shave  was  a  quarter,  a  paper  of  pins  a  quarter,  and 
needles  the  same.    In  fact,  that  was  the  smallest  change. 

Governor  St.  John  was  in  Dodge  once,  when  he  was 
notified  that  a  terrible  cyclone  had  visited  a  little  town 

—138— 


close  to  the  Kansas  line,  in  Nebraska.  In  two  hours  I 
raised  one  thousand  dollars,  which  he  wired  them.  Our 
first  calaboose  in  Dodge  City  was  a  well  fifteen  feet  deep, 
into  which  the  drunkards  were  let  down  and  allowed  to 
remain  until  they  were  sober.  Sometimes  there  were 
several  in  it  at  once.    It  served  the  purpose  well  for  a  time. 

Of  course  everyone  has  heard  of  wicked  Dodge;  but 
a  great  deal  has  been  said  and  written  about  it  that  is 
not  true.  Its  good  side  has  never  been  told,  and  I  cannot 
give  it  space  here.  Many  reckless,  bad  men  came  to 
Dodge  and  many  brave  men.  These  had  to  be  met  by 
officers  equally  brave  and  reckless.  As  the  old  saying 
goes,  "You  must  fight  the  devil  with  fire."  The  officers 
gave  them  the  south  side  of  the  railroad-track,  but  the 
north  side  must  be  kept  respectable,  and  it  was.  There 
never  was  any  such  thing  as  shooting  at  plug  hats.  On 
the  contrary,  every  stranger  that  came  to  Dodge  City  and 
behaved  himself  was  treated  with  politeness;  but  woe 
be  unto  the  man  who  came  seeking  a  fight.  He  was  soon 
accommodated  in  any  way,  shape,  or  form  that  he  wished. 
Often  have  I  seen  chivalry  extended  to  ladies  on  the 
streets,  from  these  rough  men,  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  the  knights  of  old.  When  some  man  a  little 
drunk,  and  perhaps  unintentionally,  would  jostle  a  lady 
in  a  crowd,  he  was  soon  brought  to  his  senses  by  being 
knocked  down  by  one  of  his  companions,  who  remarked, 
"Never  let  me  see  you  insult  a  lady  again." 

In  fact,  the  chivalry  of  Dodge  toward  the  fair  sex 
and  strangers  was  proverbial.  Never  in  the  history  of 
Dodge  was  a  stranger  mistreated,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
the  utmost  courtesy  was  always  and  under  all  circum- 
stances extended  to  him,  .and  never  was  there  a  frontier 
town  whose  liberality  exceeded  that  of  Dodge.  But,  while 
women,  children,  and  strangers  were  never,  anywhere, 
treated  with  more  courtesy  and  respect;  while  such  things 
as  shooting  up  plug  hats  and  making  strangers  dance  is 

all  bosh  and  moonshine,  and  one  attempting  such  would 

—-139— 


have  been  promptly  called  down;  let  me  tell  you  one 
thing — none  of  Dodge's  well-known  residents  would  have 
been  so  rash  as  to  dare  to  wear  a  plug  hat  through  the 
streets,  or  put  on  any  "dog",  such  as  wearing  a  swallow- 
tail or  evening  dress,  or  any  such  thing. 

The  general  reputation  of  young  Dodge  City  is  well 
described  in  an  article  entitled,  "Reminiscences  of  Dodge," 
written  in  1877,  and  expressing  what  a  stranger  has  to 
say  about  the  town.   The  article  runs  as  follows: 

"By  virtue  of  the  falling  off  in  the  cattle  drive  to 
Kansas  for  this  year,  and  the  large  number  of  cattle 
driven  under  contract.  Dodge  City  became  the  principal 
depot  for  the  sale  of  surplus  stock;  buyers  met  drovers 
at  this  point,  purchased  and  received  purchases  without 
unnecessary  delay,  thereby  greatly  facilitating  business 
and  enabling  quick  returns  of  both  owners  and  hands.  In 
the  future,  situated  as  it  is  upon  one  of  the  best  railroads 
traversing  the  country  from  east  to  west,  the  Atchison, 
Topeka  &  Santa  Fe,  it  will  probably  occupy  an  enviable 
position  as  a  cattle  market. 

"Dodge  has  many  characteristics  which  prevent  its 
being  classed  as  a  town  of  strictly  moral  ideas  and  prin- 
ciples, notwithstanding  it  is  supplied  with  a  church,  court- 
house, and  jail.  Other  institutions  counterbalance  the 
good  works  supposed  to  emanate  from  the  first  men- 
tioned. Like  all  frontier  towns  of  this  modern  day,  fast 
men  and  fast  women  are  around  by  the  score,  seeking 
whom  they  may  devour,  hunting  for  a  soft  snap,  taking 
him  in  for  cash,  and  many  is  the  Texas  cowboy  who  can 
testify  as  to  their  ability  to  follow  up  successfully  the 
calling  they  have  embraced  in  quest  of  money. 

"Gambling  ranges  from  a  game  of  five-cent  chuck-a- 
luck  to  a  thousand-dollar  poker  pot.  Nothing  is  secret, 
but  with  open  doors  lipon  the  main  streets,  the  ball  rolls 
on  uninterruptedly.  More  than  occasionally  some  dark- 
eyed  virago  or  some  brazen-faced  blonde,  with  a  modern 
sundown,  will  saunter  in  among  the  roughs  of  the  gam- 

—140— 


bling  houses  and  saloons,  entering  with  inexplicable  zest 
into  the  disgusting  sport,  breathing  the  immoral  atmos- 
phere with  a  gusto  which  I  defy  modern  writers  to  ex- 
plain. Dance  houses  are  ranged  along  the  convenient 
distances  and  supplied  with  all  the  trappings  and  para- 
phernalia which  go  to  complete  institutions  of  that  char- 
acter. Here  you  see  the  greatest  abandon.  Men  of  every 
grade  assemble  to  join  in  the  dance.  Nice  men  with  white 
neckties,  the  cattle  dealer  with  his  good  clothes,  the  sport 
with  his  well-turned  fingers,  smooth  tongue,  and  artisti- 
cally twisted  mustache,  and  last  but  not  least  the  cowboy, 
booted  and  spurred  as  he  comes  from  the  trail,  his  hard 
earnings  in  his  pocket,  all  join  in  the  wild  revel;  and  yet 
with  all  this  mixture  of  strange  human  nature  a  remark- 
able degree  of  order  is  preserved.  Arms  are  not  allowed 
to  be  worn,  and  any  noisy  whisky  demonstrations  are 
promptly  checked  by  incarceration  in  the  lock-up.  Even 
the  mayor  of  the  city  indulges  in  the  giddy  dance  with 
the  girls,  and  with  his  cigar  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth 
and  his  hat  tilted  to  one  side,  he  makes  a  charming  look- 
ing officer. 

"Some  things  occur  in  Dodge  that  the  world  never 
knows  of.  Probably  it  is  best  so.  Other  things  occur  that 
leak  out  by  degrees,  notwithstanding  the  use  of  hush- 
money.  That,  too,  is  perhaps  the  best.  Men  learn  by  such 
means. 

"Most  places  are  satisfied  with  one  abode  of  the  dead. 
In  the  grave  there  is  no  distinction.  The  rich  are  known 
from  the  poor  only  by  their  tombstones,  so  the  sods  that 
are  upon  the  grave  fail  to  reflect  the  characters  buried 
beneath  them.  And  yet  Dodge  boasts  of  two  burying 
spots,  one  for  the  tainted  whose  very  souls  were  steeped 
in  immorality,  and  who  have  generally  died  with  their 
boots  on.  *Boot  Hill'  is  the  somewhat  singular  title  ap- 
plied to  the  burial  place  of  the  class  just  mentioned.  The 
other  is  not  designated  by  any  particular  title  but  it  is 
supposed  to  contain  the  bodies  of  those  who  died  with  a 

—141— 


clean  sheet  on  their  beds — the  soul  in  this  case  is  a  sec- 
ondary consideration." 

So  much  for  one  view  of  Dodge  City,  but,  though 
common,  this  view  was  not  quite  universal.  Sometimes 
a  writer  appeared  who  could  recognize  a  few  slightly 
better  features  in  the  border  town,  and  who  could  look 
beyond  its  existing  lawlessness  and  see  the  possibilities 
and  beginnings  of  a  higher  state  of  things.  In  proof  of 
this  ril  quote  an  article,  written  in  1878,  a  year  later  than 
the  last,  and  entitled,  "The  Beautiful,  Bibulous  Babylon 
of  the  Frontier": 

"Standing  out  on  the  extreme  border  of  civilization, 
like  an  oasis  in  the  desert,  or  like  a  light-house  off  a 
rocky  coast,  is  The  Beautiful,  Bibulous  Babylon  of  the 
Frontier,'  Dodge  City,  so  termed  by  Lewis,  editor  of  the 
^Kinsley  Graphic'  Dodge  City  is  far  famed,  not  for  its 
virtues,  but  for  its  wickedness;  the  glaring  phases  of  its 
vices  stand  pre-eminent,  and  attract  the  attention  of  the 
visitor;  and  these  shadows  of  Babylon  are  reproduced  in 
the  gossip's  corner  and — in  the  press.  It  is  seldom  the 
picture  has  fine  embellishments;  but  the  pen  artist  of  the 
^Graphic'  put  the  finer  touches  of  nature  to  the  pen  por- 
trait of  Dodge — 'she  is  no  worse  than  Chicago.'  This, 
we  admit,  is  a  slight  leverage  in  the  social  scale,  to  be 
placed  in  the  catagory  of  Chicago's  wickedness. 

"Dodge  City  has  magnetic  attractions.  Few  people 
are  attracted  here  by  curiosity;  every  one  has  business, 
except  the  tramps,  and  they  have  no  business  here.  But 
our  visitors  see  it  all  before  they  leave,  and  they  use  the 
same  circumspection  here  they  would  under  their  own 
vine  and  fig  tree.  Many  of  them  are  not  charitable 
enough  to  tell  the  unvarnished  truth.  In  vain  boast  and 
idle  glory  they  recount  the  pilgrimage  to  Dodge  as 
though  they  passed  through  blood,  rapine,  and  war — 
fully  attested  their  courage. 

"But  the  'Kinsley  Graphic'  pays  the  'Bibulous  Bab- 
ylon' a    high    compliment,    besides    raising    the    moral 

—142— 


standard  of  Dodge  to  that  of  the  immaculate  virtue  of 
Chicago. 

"Kansas  has  but  one  Dodge  City.  With  a  broad  ex- 
panse of  territory  sufficiently  vast  for  an  empire,  we  have 
only  room  for  one  Dodge  City.  Without  particularizing 
at  length,  w^e  v^ere  most  favorably  impressed  generally 
during  a  brief  visit  at  our  neighboring  city  Tuesday. 
Beautiful  for  situation,  cozily  nestled  on  the  'beach'  of 
the  turbid  Arkansas,  w^hile  on  the  north  the  palisades  rise 
above  the  busy  little  city,  v^hich  in  the  near  future  vi^ill 
be  ornamented  with  cozy  cottages,  modern  mansions,  and 
happy  homes.  The  view  from  the  elegant  brick  court 
house,  situated  above  the  town,  is  grand.  The  panorama 
spread  out  west,  south,  and  east,  takes  in  a  vast  scope  of 
valley  scenery  such  as  only  can  be  found  fringing  our 
river.  Seventy-five  thousand  head  of  cattle,  recently 
driven  in  from  the  ranges  south,  can  be  seen  lazily  feed- 
ing on  the  nutritious  native  meadows,  while  the  cowboys 
gallop  here  and  there  among  these  vast  herds,  displaying 
superior  horsemanship.  Five  miles  down  the  river,  the 
old  flag  floats  proudly  over  the  garrison  at  the  military 
post. 

"The  city  proper  is  a  busy  beehive  of  bustle  and  busi- 
ness, a  conglomerated  aggregation  of  every  line  of  busi- 
ness alternating  with  saloons.  Francis  Murphy  don't  live 
in  Dodge.  There  are  a  few  institutions  of  which  Dodgeites 
are  justly  proud — the  ever  popular  Dodge  House,  The 
Times',  the  court  house,  the  fire  company.  Mayor  Kelley's 
hounds,  and  the  'Varieties'.  Much  has  been  said  of  the 
wickedness  and  unrighteousness  of  the  city.  If  'old  Probe' 
should  send  a  shower  of  fire  and  brimstone  up  there,  we 
would  not  vouch  for  there  being  a  sufficient  number  of 
righteous  citizens  to  save  the  city;  yet  with  all  her  wick- 
edness, she  is  no  worse  today  than  Chicago  and  many 
other  cities  where  the  music  of  the  chimes  are  daily 
heard.  There  is  but  one  difference,  however,  which  is  a 
frontier  characteristic;  our  neighbors  do  not  pretend  to 

—143— 


hide  their  pecuHarities.  A  few  years  hence  Dodge  City 
will  be  a  model  of  morality  and  a  city  of  no  mean  im- 
portance. 

"For  courtesies  shown  us  we  acknowledge  our  obli- 
gations to  Messrs.  Kline  &  Shine  of  the  lively  Times', 
Judge  Gryden  (who  deserves  to  be  known  as  Prince 
Harry,  and  whose  only  fault  is  his  rock-footed  Democ- 
racy), Mayor  Kelley,  Hon.  H.  M.  Sutton,  the  popular 
county  attorney,  E.  F.  Colburn,  the  modest  city  attorney, 
Samuel  Marshal,  the  portly  judge,  Fringer,  the  post- 
master, Hon.  R.  M.  Wright,  Dr.  McCarty,  SherifiF  Mas- 
terson  and  his  efficient  lieutenant  City  Marshal  Basset, 
and  our  old  friends  at  the  signal  office." 

Again,  under  the  heading,  "The  Wickedest  City  in 
America,"  the  "Kokomo,  Indiana,  Dispatch,"  of  an  issue 
in  July,  1878,  refers  to  Dodge:  "Its  character  as  a  hell, 
out  on  the  great  plains,  will  be,"  said  a  local  writer, 
"maintained  in  the  minds  of  traveling  newspaper  writers, 
just  so  long  as  the  city  shall  remain  a  rendezvous  for  the 
broad  and  immense  uninhabited  plains,  by  narrating  the 
wildest  and  wickedest  phases  of  Dodge  City;  but  we 
have  to  commend  them  for  complimenting  Dodge  on  its 
orderly  character."  The  "Dispatch"  speaks  very  highly 
of  Dodge  as  a  commercial  point,  and  his  letter  bears  many 
complimentary  features.  We  extract  the  following: 

"  'My  experience  in  Dodge  was  a  surprise  all  around. 
I  found  nothing  as  I  pictured  it  in  my  mind.  I  had  ex- 
pected, from  the  descriptions  I  had  read  of  it,  to  find 
it  a  perfect  bedlam,  a  sort  of  Hogathian  Gin  Alley,  where 
rum  ran  down  the  street  gutters  and  loud  profanity  and 
vile  stenches  contended  for  the  mastery  of  the  atmos- 
phere. On  the  contrary,  I  was  happily  surprised  to  find 
the  place  in  the  daytime  as  quiet  and  orderly  as  a  country 
village  in  Indiana,  and  at  night  the  traffic  in  the  wares 
of  the  fickle  Goddess  and  human  souls  was  conducted 
with  a  system  so  orderly  and  quiet  as  to  actually  be  pain- 
ful to  behold.   It  is  a  most  difficult  task,  I  confess,  to  write 

—144— 


up  Dodge  City  in  a  manner  to  do  impartial  fairness  to 
every  interest;  the  place  has  many  redeeming  points,  a 
few  of  which  I  have  already  mentioned.  It  is  not  nearly 
so  awful  a  place  as  reports  make  it.  It  is  not  true  that  the 
stranger  in  the  place  runs  a  risk  of  being  shot  down  in 
cold  blood,  for  no  offense  whatever." 

In  the  year  1878,  the  "Topeka  Times"  says,  in  a  cer- 
tain issue: 

"During  the  year  of  1873  we  roughed  it  in  the  West. 

Our  first  stopping  place  was  the  famous  Dodge  City, 

at  the  time  a  perfect  paradise  for  gamblers,  cut-throats, 

and  girls.   On  our  first  visit  the  buildings  in  the  town 

were  not  buildings,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  but  tents 

and  dugouts.    Everyone  in  town,  nearly,  sold  whisky  or 

kept  a  restaurant,  perhaps  both.  The  Atchison,  Topeka 

&  Santa  Fe  Railroad  was  just  then  working  its  way  up 

the  low-banked  Arkansas,  and  Dodge  was  the  frontier 

town.   Its  growth  was  rapid,  in  a  month  from  the  time 

the  railroad  was  completed  to  its  borders,  the  place  began 

to  look  like  a  city;  frame  houses,  one  story  high,  sprang 

up;  Dodge  became  noted  as  the  headquarters  for  the 

buffalo  hunters,  and  the  old  town  was  one  of  the  busiest 

of  trading  points,  and  they  were  a  jolly  set  of  boys  there. 

They  carried  a  pair  of  Colt's  revolvers  in  their  belts,  wore 

their  pants  in  their  boots,  and  when  they  died,  did  so 

generally  with  their  boots  on.    It  wasn't  safe,  in  those 

times,  to  call  a  man  a  liar  or  intimate  that  his  reputation 

for  honesty  was  none  of  the  best,  unless  you  were  spoiling 

for  a  fight.  In  those  days,  *Boot  Hill'  was  founded,  and 

the  way  it  grew  was  astonishing  to  new  comers  and 

terrifying  to  tenderfeet.    We  well  remember,  but  now 

forget  the  date,  when  a  party  of  eastern  capitalists  came 

out  to  look  around  with  a  view  to  locating.  They  were 

from  Boston  and  wore  diamonds  and  kid  gloves.  The 

music  at  one  of  the  dance  halls  enticed  the  bald-headed 

sinners  thither,  and  what  with  wine  and  women,  they 

became  exceedingly  gay.    But  in  the  midst  of  their  sport 

—145— 


a  shot  was  fired,  and  another,  and,  in  a  Httle  time,  the 
room  gleamed  with  flashing  pistols  and  angry  eyes.  This 
was  enough,  and  the  eastern  capitalists  hurried  to  the 
depot,  where  they  remained  until  the  first  train  bore 
them  to  the  classic  shades  of  Boston.  But  with  all  its 
wildness,  Dodge  could  then,  as  it  does  yet,  boast  of 
some  of  the  best,  freest,  and  whitest  boys  in  the  country. 
We  were  down  there  again  last  week,  and  were  sur- 
prised in  the  change  in  the  city.  It  has  built  up  wonder- 
fully, has  a  fine  court  house,  church,  good  schools,  large 
business  blocks,  a  good  hall,  first-class  hotels,  and  two 
live  newspapers.  The  editor  of  the  'Times'  was  not  in, 
but  we  saw  Honorable  D.  M.  Frost,  the  editor  of  the 
'Globe'.  Dodge  is  coming  out  and  is  destined  to  be  a 
city  of  considerable  size." 

Another  writer  of  the  times,  defending  Dodge  City, 
says: 

"There  is  an  evident  purpose  to  malign  and  create 
false  impressions  concerning  the  character  of  Dodge  City. 
It  is  a  pretty  general  impression  that  a  person  here  is 
insecure  in  life,  and  that  the  citizens  of  Dodge  are  walk- 
ing howitzers.  This  is  a  bad  impression  that  should,  by 
all  means,  be  corrected.  Having  but  a  short  residence  in 
this  town,  it  is  our  deliberate  opinion,  from  a  careful  ob- 
servation, that  Dodge  is  as  quiet  and  orderly  as  any 
town  of  its  size  in  Kansas.  We  have  been  treated  with 
the  utmost  cordiality.  We  have  observed  officers  prompt 
and  efficient,  in  the  discharge  of  their  duties.  There  is 
an  ordinance  prohibiting  the  carrying  of  fire  arms,  which 
is  rigidly  enforced.  The  citizens  are  cordial,  industrious, 
and  display  a  business  alacrity,  characteristic  of  the  fron- 
tier tradesman.  We  are  surprised  to  note  the  difference 
of  character  of  this  town  and  the  impression  aimed  to  be 
made  upon  us  before  coming  here.  There  is  a  lurking 
jealousy  somewhere,  that  gives  rise  to  false  rumors,  and 
we  trust  every  citizen  of  Dodge  City  will  correct  these 
false  impressions,  as  far  as  lies  in  his  power.  This,  alone, 

—146— 


would  efface  bad  impressions  and  false  rumors,  but  for- 
bearance ceases  to  be  a  virtue,  and  we  kindly  protest." 

Again,  the  character  of  early  Dodge  was  defended 
by  Charles  D.  Ulmer,  of  the  "Sterling  Bulletin,"  thus: 

"On  Friday,  the  party  visited  Dodge  City,  the  rip- 
roaring  burg  of  the  West.  As  we  glided  into  the  depot, 
we  looked  anxiously  along  the  street,  expecting  to  see 
many  squads  of  festive  cowboys,  rigged  out  with  arms 
enough  to  equip  a  regiment,  and  ready  to  pop  a  shot  at 
any  plug  hat  that  might  be  in  the  crowd,  but  nothing  of 
the  kind  was  to  be  observed;  instead,  there  was  a  busy, 
hustling  little  city,  like  many  others  in  Kansas,  with, 
perhaps,  a  few  extra  saloons  thrown  in  for  variety.  Dodge 
City  was  a  surprise  to  us.  It  is  beautifully  located — the 
residence  portion  on  the  hills  which  command  a  magni- 
ficent view  of  the  country,  east,  west,  and  south.  The 
business  portion  is  on  the  level  bottom  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills.  The  railroad  track  is  a  little  close  to  the  main  busi- 
ness street  for  convenience. 

"The  party,  on  landing,  instead  of  being  received  by 
a  howling  lot  of  cowboys,  with  six-shooters  and  Win- 
chester rifles  rampant,  were  received  by  a  delegation  of 
as  gentlemanly  and  courteous  men  as  can  be  found  in 
the  state.  During  our  stay  in  Dodge,  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  most  of  the  men  who  have  been  so  prominent- 
ly mentioned  in  the  late  trouble  at  that  place.  Instead  of 
low-browed  ruffians  and  cut-throats,  we  found  them  to 
be  cultivated  gentlemen,  but  evidently  possessing  plenty 
of  nerve  for  any  emergency.  Among  those  we  met  and 
conversed  with  was  Luke  Short,  his  partner,  Mr.  Harris, 
who  is  vice-president  of  the  Dodge  City  bank,  and  Mr. 
Webster.  The  late  trouble  originated  in  differences  be- 
tween Messrs.  Short  and  Webster,  and,  we  believe,  after 
both  sides  get  together  it  could  and  should  have  been 
settled  without  the  hubbub  made,  and  interference  of  the 
state  authorities.  Mr.  Short,  Mr.  Harris,  and  others  assur- 
ed us  that  their  side,  at  all  times,  was  ready  and  willing  to 

— 147-- 


submit  their  differences  to  the  decision  of  the  courts. 
The  trouble  has  been  amicably  adjusted,  and  no  further 
trouble  is  anticipated  on  the  old  score." 

But,  as  has  already  been  stated,  often  only  the  worst 
side  of  Dodge  City  was  written  up,  in  a  way  to  make  the 
most  of  it.  In  protest  against  this  practice,  a  local  writer 
of  early  times  refers  to  a  write-up  of  the  sort,  in  this  wise: 

"A  verdant  editor  of  the  *Hays  City  Sentinel'  visits 
our  brothels  and  bagnios.  From  the  tone  of  his  article, 
he  must  have  gone  too  deep  into  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
lascivious  things  he  speaks  of,  and  went  away  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  monkey  who  got  his  tail  too  near  the  coals. 
He  says:  *  After  a  long  day's  ride  in  the  scorching  sun, 
I  arrived  in  Dodge  City.  Dodge  is  the  Deadwood  of 
Kansas.  Her  incorporate  limits  are  the  rendezvous  of 
all  the  unemployed  scallawagism  in  seven  states.  Her 
principal  business  is  polygamy  without  the  sanction  of 
religion,  her  code  of  morals  is  the  honor  of  thieves,  and 
decency  she  knows  not.  In  short,  she  is  an  exaggerated 
frontier  town,  and  all  her  consistences  are  operated  on 
the  same  principle.  Her  every  day  occurrences  are  such 
as  would  make  the  face  of  a  Haysite,  accustomed  as  he 
is  to  similar  sights,  color  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and 
draw  away  disgusted.  Dodge  is  a  fast  town  and  all  of 
her  speedy  proclivities  exhibit  to  the  best  advantage. 
The  employment  of  many  citizens  is  gambling.  Her  vir- 
tue is  prositution  and  her  beverage  is  whisky.  She  is  a 
merry  town  and  the  only  visible  means  of  support  of  a 
great  many  of  her  citizens  is  jocularity.  Her  rowdyism 
has  taken  a  most  aggravated  form,  and  was  it  not  for  the 
most  stringent  ordinances  (some  of  which  are  unconsti- 
tutional), and  a  fair  attempt  to  enforce  them,  the  town 
would  be  suddenly  depopulated  and  very  much  in  the 
nianner  that  Ireland  got  rid  of  her  snakes.  Seventeen 
saloons  furnish  inspiration  and  many  people  become  in- 
spired, not  to  say  drunk.    Every  facility  is  afforded  for 

the  exercise  of  conviviality,  and  no  restriction  is  placed 

—148— 


on  licentiousness.  The  town  is  full  of  prostitutes  and 
every  other  place  is  a  brothel.  Dodge  by  day  and  Dodge 
by  night  are  different  towns;"  and,  then  he  goes  on 
with  more  abuse  too  vile  and  untruthful  to  mention.  Our 
brother  from  Hays  City  must  indeed  have  been  hard  hit, 
but  must  not  have  visited  any  good  spot  in  Dodge  City, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  must  have  confined  himself  entirely 
to  the  very  lowest  places  and  worst  society  in  Dodge. 
Birds  of  a  feather,  you  know,  will  flock  together.  We 
hope  his  dose  was  a  mild  one — though  he  does  not  de- 
serve our  sympathy. 

Besides  this  generally  sensational  mode  of  writing 
up  the  town.  Dodge  City  was  the  theme  of  many  lurid 
stories  and  sulphurous  jokes  which  tended,  no  less  than 
the  write-ups,  to  establish  her  position,  in  the  public  eye, 
as  the  "Wickedest  Town  in  America."  The  following 
letter  is  from  the  "Washington,  D.  C,  Evening  Star," 
January  ist,  1878. 

"Dodge  City  is  a  wicked  little  town.  Indeed,  its 
character  is  so  clearly  and  egregiously  bad  that  one  might 
conclude,  were  the  evidence  in  these  later  times  positive 
of  its  possibility,  that  it  was  marked  for  special  Provi- 
dential punishment.  Here  those  nomads  in  regions  remote 
from  the  restraints  of  moral,  civil,  social,  and  law  enforc- 
ing life,  the  Texas  cattle  drovers,  from  the  very  tendencies 
of  their  situation  the  embodiment  of  waywardness  and 
wantonness,  end  the  journey  with  their  herds,  and  here 
they  loiter  and  dissipate,  sometimes  for  months,  and 
share  the  boughten  dalliances  of  fallen  women.  Truly, 
the  more  demonstrative  portion  of  humanity  at  Dodge 
City  gives  now  no  hopeful  sign  of  moral  improvement, 
no  bright  prospect  of  human  exaltation;  but  with  Dodge 
City  itself,  it  will  not  always  be  as  now.  The  hamlet  of 
today,  like  Wichita  and  Newton  farther  east  in  the  state, 
will  antagonize  with  a  nobler  trait,  at  some  future  day, 
its  present  outlandish  condition.    The  denizen  of  little 

Dodge  City  declares,  with  a  great  deal  of  confidence,  that 

—149— 


the  region  around  about  the  place  is  good  for  nothing  for 
agricultural  purposes.  He  says  the  seasons  are  too  dry, 
that  the  country  is  good  for  nothing  but  for  grazing,  and 
that  all  they  raise  around  Dodge  is  cattle  and  hell.  The 
desire  of  his  heart  is  the  father  of  the  statement.  He  is 
content  with  just  what  it  is,  and  he  wants  that  to  remain. 
He  wants  the  cattle  droves  and  his  associations  and  sur- 
roundings to  be  a  presence  and  a  heritage  forever." 

Referring  to  this  article,  the  Ford  County  "Globe," 
of  January  ist,  1878,  says:  "We  think  this  correspondent 
had  a  sour  stomach  when  he  portrayed  the  wickedness  of 
our  city.  But  we  must  expect  it  unless  we  ourselves  try 
to  improve  the  present  condition  of  things.  There  is  not 
a  more  peaceful,  well-regulated,  and  orderly  community 
in  the  western  country;"  and  dien,  as  the  office  boy 
entered  to  say  that  somebody  wanted  to  see  him,  he 
took  his  bowie  knife  between  his  teeth,  put  a  Colt's  new 
pattern  six-shooter  on  his  desk  in  front  of  him,  and  then 
said:  "Jim,  get  out  another  coffin,  a  plain  one  this  time, 
and  let  the  critter  come  in." 

About  thirty  miles  from  Dodge  the  train  stopped  at 
a  little  station,  and  a  cowboy  got  on,  very  drunk,  and 
fully  equipped  in  chapps,  spurs,  six-shooter,  and  quirt. 
The  conductor,  John  Bender,  asked  him  his  fare  and 
destination.  He  replied,  "I  want  to  go  to  hell!"  Bender 
said,  "All  right;  give  me  a  dollar  and  get  off  at  Dodge." 

Thus  Dodge  City's  evil  reputation  became  estab- 
lished, whether  deserved  or  undeserved.  People  living  at 
a  distance  and  having  no  way  of  knowing  where  truth 
ended  and  falsehood  began,  naturally  gave  credence  to 
all  reports  they  saw  published,  until,  in  places  remote, 
the  very  name  of  Dodge  became  a  synonym  for  all  that 
was  wild,  reckless,  and  violent.  Strangers,  approaching 
the  town  for  the  first  time,  did  so  with  dread,  entered  it 
with  fear  and  trembling,  or  passed  through  it  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  as  its  last  roof  was  left  behind.    Tales  of  the 

fate  of  tenderfeet  in  the  border  city  struck  terror  to  the 

—150— 


soul  of  many  a  newcomer  in  the  community,  and  the 
dangers  apprehended  by  these  new  arrivals  on  the  dread- 
ed scene,  were  limited  only  by  the  amount  of  courage, 
credulity,  and  imagination  they  possessed.  To  illustrate, 
a  young  man,  going  west  with  a  party  of  movers,  wrote 
a  card  to  his  father  back  east,  just  before  reaching  Dodge 
City,  not  mailing  it  till  after  passing  through.  Here  is 
what  he  wrote  while  anticipating  the  entrance  into  the 
dreaded  town: 

"In  Camp  Fifteen  Miles  from  Dodge,  May  7,  1877. 
"Dear  Father:— 

"As  I've  a  litde  time  I'll  drop  you  a  card,  so  you 
can  see  we  are  all  well  and  headed  west.  Have  laid  over 
here  to  wait  for  a  larger  crowd  so  as  to  be  perfectly  safe 
going  through  Dodge.  There  are  nine  teams  now  and 
will  be  three  more  in  the  morning,  so  we  will  be  safe 
anyway.  There  are  a  good  many  coming  back  from 
Colorado  but  that  don't  discourage  us  any.  That  is  no 
sign  we  can't  do  well.  Everything  goes  on  as  nice  as 
clock  work  among  ourselves;  not  a  word  as  yet  and  no 
hard  feelings. 

"HERBERT." 

In  somewhat  sarcastic  comment  upon  this  postal  card, 
the  'Dodge  City  Times,"  of  May  19th,  1877,  says: 

"The  card  was  evidently  written  while  awaiting 
reinforcements  to  assist  in  making  a  charge  through  our 
city,  but  not  mailed  until  they  had  run  the  gauntlet  and 
halted  to  take  a  breath  at  a  safe  distance  on  the  west  side. 
To  the  father  and  friends  who  are  no  doubt  anxiously 
waiting  to  know  if  our  blood-thirsty  denizens  extermi- 
nated the  caravan,  we  can  say  that  they  escaped  us  with- 
out a  serious  loss  of  life." 

What  made  Dodge  City  so  famous  was  that  it  was  the 
last  of  the  towns  of  the  last  big  frontier  of  the  United 
States.  When  this  was  settled,  the  frontier  was  gone,  it 
was  the  passing  of  the  frontier  with  the  passing  of  the 
buffalo,  and  the  Indian  question  was   settled  forever. 

—151— 


Here  congregated  people  from  the  east,  people  from 
the  south,  people  from  the  north,  and  people  from  the 
west.  People  of  all  sorts,  sizes,  conditions,  and  nationali- 
ties ;  people  of  all  color,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  congre- 
gated here,  because  it  was  the  big  door  to  so  vast  a  frontier. 
Some  came  to  Dodge  City  out  of  curiosity;  others  strictly 
for  business;  the  stock  man  came  because  it  was  a  great 
cattle  market,  and  here,  on  the  Arkansas  river,  was  the 
place  appointed  for  the  cattle  going  north  to  be  classed 
and  passed  on,  for  bargains  to  be  closed,  and  new  contracts 
made  for  next  year;  the  cowboy  came  because  it  was  his 
duty  as  well  as  delight,  and  here  he  drew  wages  and 
spent  them;  the  hunter  came  because  it  was  the  very  heart 
of  the  greatest  game  country  on  earth;  the  freighter  came 
because  it  was  one  of  the  greatest  overland  freight  depots 
in  the  United  States,  and  he  hauled  material  and  supplies 
for  nearly  four  hundred  miles,  supplying  three  military 
posts,  and  all  the  frontier  for  that  far  south  and  west;  last 
but  not  least,  the  gambler  and  the  bad  man  came  because 
of  the  wealth  and  excitement,  for  obscene  birds  will  al- 
ways gather  around  a  carcass. 

Money  was  plentiful  and  spent  lavishly,  and  here 
let  me  say,  there  are  different  classes  of  men  who  are 
producers  or  money-makers,  and  misers,  up  to  a  certain 
amount.  There  were  numbers  of  people,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  who  would  carefully  save  up  from  two  hun- 
dred to  five  hundred  dollars,  and  then  come  to  Dodge 
City  and  turn  it  loose,  never  letting  up  until  every  dollar 
was  gone.  There  were  others  whose  ambition  was  higher. 
They  would  save  up  from  five  hundred  to  two  thousand 
dollars,  come  to  Dodge  City  and  spend  it  all.  There  were 
still  others  who  would  reach  out  to  five  thousand  dollars 
and  upwards,  come  to  Dodge,  and  away  it  would  all  go, 
and,  strange  to  say,  these  men  went  back  to  their  differ- 
ent avocations  perfectly  satisfied.  They  had  started  out 
for  a  good  time  and  had  had  it,  and  went  back  contented. 

Indeed,  one  man  started  with  twenty  thousand  dollars 

—152— 


for  New  York,  struck  Dodge  City,  spent  the  most  of  his 
twenty  thousand,  and  went  back  to  begin  over  again. 
He  said:  "Oh,  well,  I  did  start  to  have  a  good  time  in 
New  York,  but  I  tell  you,  you  can  make  New  York  any- 
where if  you  only  have  the  money  and  the  luxuries  and 
attractions  are  there."  And  these  all  could  be  had  for 
the  price,  in  Dodge  City.  There  were  women,  dance  halls, 
music,  saloons  and  restaurants,  equipped  with  every  lux- 
ury, while  gambling  in  every  conceivable  form,  and  every 
gambling  device  known  at  that  time  was  in  full  blast. 

I  will  now  say  something  of  the  business  of  early 
Dodge,  which  has  been  mentioned  as  being  tremendous. 
At  that  time  we  were  often  asked,  "What  sustains  your 
city?"  "Where  does  your  trade  come  from?"  and  many 
such  questions,  which  no  doubt,  will  recur  to  the  mind 
of  the  reader,  at  the  present  time.  First  and  foremost  of 
our  industries  was  the  cattle  and  stock  trade,  with  its 
buying,  selling,  and  shipping  for  the  whole  southwestern 
range,  and  which  lasted  till  other  railroads  extended  into 
this  territory  and  cut  off  the  trade  from  Dodge  City. 
Then  there  was  the  government  freight  business,  with 
Dodge  the  point  of  supply  to  many  military  posts  and 
their  garrisons,  in  the  surrounding  wilderness.  This, 
alone,  was  heavy  traffic,  while  local  and  general  freight- 
ing, to  ranches,  inland  settlements,  and  hunters'  camps, 
was  an  important  addition  to  this  line  of  business.  Again, 
as  Dodge  City  was  the  point  of  supply,  in  all  general 
commodities,  for  so  vast  a  section  of  country,  the  mercan- 
tile business  promptly  assumed  enormous  proportions. 

One  of  Dodge  City's  great  industries  was  the  bone 

trade.     It  certainly  was  immense.     There  were   great 

stacks  of  bones,  piled  up  by  the  railroad  track — hundreds 

of  tons  of  them.    It  was  a  sight  to  see  them.    They  were 

stacked  up  way  above  the  tops  of  the  box  cars,  and 

often  there  were  not  sufficient  cars  to  move  them.    Dodge 

excelled  in  bones,  like  she  did  in  buffalo  hides,  for  there 

were  more  than  ten  times  the  number  of  carloads  shipped 

—153— 


out  of  Dodge,  than  out  of  any  other  town  in  the  state, 
and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for  there  was  a  vast 
amount  shipped  from  every  httle  town  in  western  Kansas. 

The  bones  were  a  godsend  to  the  early  settler,  for 
they  were  his  main  stock  in  trade  for  a  long,  long  time; 
and,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  bone  industry,  many  poor 
families  would  have  suffered  for  the  very  necessaries  of 
life.  It  looked  like  a  wise  dispensation  of  Providence. 
Many  poor  emigrants  and  settlers  came  to  Kansas  with 
nothing  but  an  old  wagon  and  a  worse  span  of  horses,  a 
large  family  of  helpless  children,  and  a  few  dogs— noth- 
ing else.  No  money,  no  work  of  any  kind  whatever  to  be 
had,  when,  by  gathering  buffalo  bones,  they  could  make  a 
living  or  get  a  start.  Game  was  all  killed  off  and  starva- 
tion staring  them  in  the  face;  bones  were  their  only  sal- 
vation, and  this  industry  saved  them.  They  gathered  and 
piled  them  up  in  large  piles,  during  the  winter,  and 
hauled  them  to  Dodge  at  times  when  they  had  nothing 
else  to  do,  when  they  always  demanded  a  good  price. 
This  industry  kept  us  for  many  years,  and  gave  the  settler 
a  start,  making  it  possible  for  him  to  break  the  ground 
from  which  he  now  raises  such  large  crops  of  wheat, 
making  him  rich  and  happy.  Yes,  indeed!  Many  of  our 
rich  farmers  of  today,  once  were  poor  bone  pickers,  but 
if  they  hear  this,  it  don't  go.  Certainly,  this  was  a  great 
business,  as  well  as  a  godsend,  coming  at  a  time  when 
the  settlers  most  needed  help.  All  this  added  to  the 
wealth  and  prosperity  of  Dodge,  and  added  to  its  fame. 
"Buffalo  bones  are  legal  tender  in  Dodge  City,"  was  the 
strolling  paragraph  in  all  the  Kansas  exchanges. 

As  to  the  magnitude  of  the  early  day  mercantile 
business  of  Dodge  City,  the  writer  can  speak,  at  any 
length,  from  his  own  experience,  as  he  followed  that  line, 
there,  for  many  years.  As  an  introduction  to  the  sub- 
ject, ril  give  a  clipping  from  the  "Ford  County  Globe," 
of  1877,  entitled,  "Wright,  Beverly  &  Company's  Texas 

Trade."  Now  one  of  the  editors,  Mr.  Morphy,  was  a  bitter 

—154— 


enemy  of  the  writer,  who  was  head  of  the  firm  of  Wright 
&  Beverly,  because  he  abused  the  writer  so  maliciously  and 
scandalously  and  lied  so  outrageously  about  him,  when  the 
writer  was  running  for  the  legislature,  that  the  latter 
whipped  him  on  the  street;  for  which,  Morphy  sued  the 
writer  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  The  jury  awarded  a  dam- 
age of  four  dollars  and  a  half  for  the  plaintiff's  doctor 
bill,  and  they  hung  out,  for  a  long  time  against  giving  any- 
thing, until  the  judge  instructed  them  they  must  render 
a  verdict  for  that  amount,  as  Mr.  Morphy  had  clearly 
proven  that  he  had  paid  the  doctor  four  dollars  and  a 
half,  as  a  result  of  the  whipping;  so  you>  can  see,  he 
would  not  give  the  firm  any  too  much  praise,  in  writing 
them  up.    He  says: 

"Those  gentlemen  do  an  immense  business  and  make 
a  specialty  to  cater  to  the  immense  Texas  trade.  The 
jingling  spur,  the  carved  ivory-handled  Colt,  or  the  suit 
of  velveteen,  and  the  many,  many  other  Texas  necessaries, 
you  here  find  by  the  gross  or  cord.  An  upstairs  room, 
thirty  by  seventy-five  feet,  is  devoted  entirely  to  clothing 
and  saddlery.  In  their  warehouses  and  yard,  it  is  no 
uncommon  thing  to  find  from  sixty  to  eighty  thousand 
buffalo  robes  and  hides.  This  house  also  does  a  banking 
business  for  the  accommodation  of  its  customers.  Mr. 
John  Newton,  the  portly  and  benevolent  charge  de  affairs 
of  the  office,  will  accommodate  you  with  five  dollars  or 
five  thousand  dollars,  as  the  case  may  be.  We  generally 
get  the  former  amount.  Mr.  Samuels,  who  has  special 
charge  of  the  shooting  irons  and  jewelry  stock,  will  enter- 
tain you  in  Spanish,  German,  Russian,  or  Hebrew.  The 
assistance  of  Mr.  Isaacson,  the  clothier,  is  demanded  for 
parrle  vous,  while  Bob,  himself,  has  to  be  called  on  when 
the  dusky  and  dirty  'child  of  the  setting  sun'  insists 
on  spitting  and  spouting  Cheyenne  and  Arapahoe  and 
goes  square  back  on  the  king's  EngHsh.  They  employed 
over  a  dozen  outside  men  to  check  off  the  wagons  that 

were  loading,  and  their  sales  were  on  an  average  of  a 

—155— 


thousand  dollars  a  day,  Sundays  not  excepted,  or  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  several 
years  it  was  over  four  hundred  thousand  dollars."  There 
v^as  no  article  you  could  mention  we  did  not  handle. 
Our  remittances  to  banks  in  Leavenworth  were  frequently 
as  high  as  fifty  thousand  dollars.  This  was  owing  to 
stock  men  depositing  their  whole  pile  with  us,  and  draw- 
ing against  it  as  they  needed  it.  We  have  had  parties 
leave  with  us  endorsed,  certified  checks,  as  high  as  fifty 
thousand  dollars  each,  to  pay  for  cattle  or  close  some  deal 
for  them.  Strange  to  say,  there  was  but  little  currency 
in  circulation,  and,  nothwithstanding  the  railroad  agent 
was  instructed  to  turn  over  his  receipts  of  greenbacks, 
and  take  our  check  for  same,  we  had  to  have  shipped  to 
us,  by  express,  from  two  thousand  dollars  to  five  thou- 
sand dollars  in  currency  every  few  days. 

The  Santa  Fe  railroad  was  another  great  factor  in 
making  the  wealth  and  splendid  prosperity  of  Dodge  City. 
Indeed,  it  was  the  first  cause  of  the  development  of  Dodge 
City's  greatness.  It  was  this  road,  you  might  say,  that 
made  us.  It,  at  least,  gavd  us  a  big  start.  Hundreds 
of  its  employees  made  it  their  home  from  the  very  begin- 
ning. Dodge  was  not  only  its  terminus,  for  awhile,  but 
it  always  has  been  the  end  of  a  division.  The  officers  of 
the  road  and  the  people  of  the  town  have  always  enjoyed 
great  harmony.  They  have  treated  us  justly  and  kindly, 
favoring  us  whenever  and  in  whatever  way  they  could, 
and,  in  return  and  to  show  them  gratitude,  the  Dodge 
people  have  worked  right  in  with  them;  and  never  have 
they  been  at  outs,  or  has  the  least  thing  ever  arisen  which 
would  lessen  the  friendship  between  them.  Even  yet, 
(1913),  the  railroad  company  is  making  great  improve- 
ments in  buildings,  grades,  yardage,  etc.,  at  Dodge  City. 

Another  great  feature  belonging  to  Dodge  City,  and 
which  brought  many  people  there  at  an  early  date,  is  its 
beautiful,  health  giving  climate  and  pure  air.  It  was,  and 
is,  a  great  resort  for  invalids  afflicted  with  the  white 

-—156— 


plague.  This  should  be  the  stopping  off  place  for  all 
those  badly  afflicted  with  this  dread  disease,  as  the  great 
change  in  altitude,  from  lowlands  to  mountains,  is  often 
to  sudden.  I  have  known  many  people  to  stop  off  here 
until  they  got  accustomed  to  light  air  and  great  altitude, 
and  then  go  on  to  the  mountains,  and,  in  time,  be  com- 
pletely cured.  Others  would  stop  only  a  short  time  and 
take  the  consequences.  Others,  after  a  short  stay  here, 
would  feel  so  much  better  they  would  return  home,  think- 
ing they  were  cured,  and  make  a  grand  mistake.  A 
lovely  lady,  the  wife  of  one  of  Missouri's  greatest  lawyers, 
stopped  off  here  a  short  time,  and  her  health  improved 
so  wonderfully  that  she  went  back  to  Missouri,  but  we 
heard  of  her  death  a  short  time  afterwards.  I  have 
known  several  parties  who  would  receive  so  great  a  bene- 
fit from  a  short  stay  in  Dodge,  they  would  insist,  against 
the  wishes  of  their  doctor  and  friends,  on  going  on  to  the 
mountains,  and  come  back,  in  a  few  weeks,  in  a  box,  or 
return  to  die  among  their  eastern  friends.  You  see,  they 
did  not  stay  in  Dodge  long  enough  to  get  used  to  the 
great  altitude  of  the  mountains. 

Dodge  City  was  conspicious  in  the  sight  of  news- 
paper men,  and  complimentary  notices  of  its  business  men 
were  often  unique.  For  instance,  the  "Walnut  City 
Blade,"  says:  "The  gentlemen  of  Dodge  City  are  whole- 
souled  fellows  and  fine  business  men.  Although  our 
acquaintance  was  limited,  we  can  say  that  Sutton,  White- 
law,  Winnie,  Gryden,  Bob  Wright,  Shinn,  Klaine,  and 
Frost  are  each  a  whole  team  with  a  mule  colt  following." 

As  an  instance  of  the  splendid  liberality  of  Dodge 
City  in  times  of  emergency,  as  already  mentioned,  its 
response  to  Governor  St.  John's  petition  for  the  cyclone 
su^erers  has  been  given.  Another  instance,  among  any 
number  that  might  be  given,  was  the  conduct  of  Dodge 
City  toward  the  yellow  fever  situation,  in  Memphis,  Ten- 
nessee, in  1878.  September  loth,  of  that  year,  a  mass 
meeting  was  called  for  the  purpose  of  alleviating  the  suf- 

—157— 


ferers  of  Memphis  from  the  terrible  yellow  fever  scourge. 
The  people  only  had  a  few  hours'  notice  of  the  meeting, 
but,  in  such  short  time,  two  or  three  hundred  gathered. 
A  few  speeches  were  made  by  some  of  our  prominent  citi- 
zens, when  Mr.  P.  L.  Beaty  jumped  upon  a  stand  and  said : 
"I  have  been  a  victim  of  this  yellow  fever,  and  know  how 
these  people  in  the  South  suffer;  here's  what  talks!"  at 
the  same  time  throwing  a  ten  dollar  bill  into  the  hat, 
amidst  wildest  enthusiasm.  Other  speeches  followed, 
while  contributions  flowed  into  the  hat  in  splendid  style, 
the  poor  bootblack  dropping  in  his  nickel,  and  the  rich 
merchant  his  ten  dollar  bill.  The  total  amount  collected 
was  over  three  hundred  dollars,  which  was  promptly  for- 
warded to  the  Howard  Association  of  Memphis.  Instances 
of  charity  equal  to  that  of  Dodge  City  are  as  scarce  on 
the  records  as,  elsewhere,  the  rarity  of  Christian  charity 
is  plentiful.  Hurrah,  for  little  Dodge!  She  is  still  bad 
in  war,  good  in  peace,  and  has  a  bigger  heart,  for  her 
size,  than  any  town  in  Kansas.  A  short  time  after  this 
meeting,  it  was  found  that  the  terrible  scourge  of  yellow 
fever  still  held  Memphis  in  its  grip;  and  at  another  mass 
meeting  to  relieve  the  suffering.  Dodge  City  sent  more 
than  double  the  former  amount. 

This  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  little  priest,  by  the  name 
of  Father  Swineberg,  who  was  a  little  fellow  with  a  big 
heart,  with  charity  for  all  and  malice  toward  none,  no 
matter  what  the  denomination.  He  was  very  highly  edu- 
cated, could  speak  fluently  more  than  a  half-dozen  differ- 
ent languages,  and  visited  Fort  Dodge  to  look  after  his 
flock  and  minister  to  the  wants  of  his  people,  years  before 
Dodge  City  was  established.  It  was  the  writer's  happy 
luck  to  be  able  to  accommodate  him  several  times,  in 
driving  him  from  one  post  to  another,  looking  after  the 
needs  of  the  church  and  his  ministerial  duties,  and,  in 
that  way,  the  writer  and  he  became  warm  friends. 

In  the  course  of  time,  he  called  on  me  at  the  fort, 
armed  with  letters  to  the  commanding  officer  of  Fort 

—158— 


Dodge,  and  instructing  said  officer  to  give  Father  Swine- 
berg  all  the  assistance  in  his  power.  His  objective  point 
was  way  down  in  old  Mexico,  across  the  borders  of  that 
unknown  region,  those  days,  of  New  Mexico,  Arizona, 
and  old  Mexico,  a  distance  from  Fort  Elliott,  his  starting 
point,  of  over  one  thounsand  miles.  It  was  a  desert,  en- 
tirely unknown,  in  those  days,  without  water,  wood,  or 
habitations,  or  civilization  of  any  kind.  His  stock  of  trade 
was  splendid  maps  of  the  region  he  was  to  traverse, 
encased  in  an  oil-cloth  covered  tin  tube.  I,  being  familiar 
with  the  terrible  dangers  and  privations  he  would  have 
to  undergo,  from  lack  of  food  and  water,  exposure  to  the 
elements  both  heat  and  cold,  as  well  as  the  terrible  storms 
that  visited  that  country,  and  some  big  rivers  to  cross, 
tried  to  persuade  him  to  desist.  I  told  him  it  was  as 
much  as  his  life  was  worth — that  he  must  not  go.  He 
said  he  had  to  go.  I  asked  him,  why.  Shrugging  his 
shoulders,  like  a  Frenchman  would,  he  said:  "Because 
my  bishop  ordered  me." 

The  commanding  officer  at  Fort  Elliott  fitted  out 
Father  Swineberg  and  another  priest,  who  was  to  be  his 
traveling  companion,  with  two  fine  horses,  what  grub 
they  could  conveniently  carry,  and  blankets.  They  had 
no  arms  of  any  kind  or  description  except  knives;  they 
said  they  didn't  need  any.  Remarkable  to  relate,  they 
made  the  trip,  accompHshed  their  object,  and  came  back 
safely.  Father  Swineberg  told  me  that  they  enjoyed  the 
trip.  That  once,  when  they  were  in  one  of  the  greatest 
straits  and  lost  without  food  or  water,  they  ran  into  a 
very  large  band  of  Indians,  who  received  them  kindly, 
and  several  of  the  band  understood  Spanish  and  some 
understood  French.  They  stayed  with  the  Indians  about 
a  week,  preaching  alternately  in  French  and  Spanish, 
which  a  good  many  of  the  Indians  seemed  to  understand 
and  enjoy  and  appreciate. 

Now  comes  my  yellow  fever  episode  which  reminded 
me  of  this  story.    When  the  great  call  was  made  from  the 

—159— 


South  to  the  North,  for  aid  and  nurses  to  subdue  the  terri- 
ble scourge,  Father  Swineberg,  with  twenty-odd  other 
priests,  nobly  responded,  well  knowing  they  were  going 
to  their  death.  Very  few  ever  returned,  and  Father 
Swineberg  was  among  the  number  that  went  down.  His 
was  a  noble  life. 

There  was  a  society  known  as  "The  Orients,"  in 
Dodge  City,  with  charitable  work  as  its  real  object,  and 
fun  as  a  side  line.  A  few  disparaging  remarks,  made  by  a 
young  blood  who  desired  membership,  subjected  the  indi- 
vidual to  a  "side  degree,"  upon  which  lavish  hand  per- 
formed all  sorts  of  excruciating  tricks,  which  were  absurd 
and  ridiculous.  When  it  came  to  ridicule,  the  old-timer 
was  not  sparing  in  punishment. 

The  greatest  excitement  ever  caused  in  Dodge  was 
the  advent  of  an  Indian,  one  of  the  principal  chiefs  of  the 
Cheyennes.  In  the  winter  of  1872,  W.  D.  Lee,  of  the 
firm  of  Lee  &  Reynolds,  doing  a  large  business  at  Supply 
as  freighters,  government  contractors,  suders,  and  Indian 
traders  combined,  brought  this  Indian  to  Dodge  City  to 
show  him  the  wonders  of  the  railroad  and  impress  upon 
him  how  civilization  was  advancing.  There  happened  to 
be  several  hunters  in  town  at  that  time,  driven  in  bv  a 
heavy  storm  and  snow.  No  sooner  did  the  Indian  make 
his  appearance  on  the  street  than  the  excitement  began. 
Most  of  the  hunters  hated  an  Indian,  and  not  a  few  of 
them  had  suffered  more  or  less  from  their  depredations. 
Among  the  latter  was  one  Kirk  Jordan,  a  very  desperate 
man,  whose  sister,  brother-in-law,  and  whole  family  had 
been  wiped  out  by  the  savages,  and  their  home  and  its 
contents  burned  and  every  vestige  of  stock  stolen.  This 
had  happened  in  the  northwest  part  of  the  state.  Jordan 
had  sworn  to  kill  the  first  Indian  he  saw,  no  matter  what 
the  consequences  might  be.  He  was  a  leader  and  a  favor- 
ite with  the  hunters,  and,  together  with  his  companions, 
being  inflated  with  liquor,  had  no  trouble  in  getting  fol- 
lowers.   We  ran  the  Indian  into  a  drug-store  and  locked 

—160— 


-^ 


A.  J.  Anthony 
One  of  the  Seven  Old  Timers  of  Dodge  City 


^ 


the  doors.  There  was  no  egress  from  the  rear,  but  two 
famihes  occupied  houses  adjoining  the  drug-store,  and 
someone  quickly  tore  off  one  of  the  upright  partition 
boards  that  separated  the  drug  store  from  the  dweUings 
containing  the  famiHes,  and  the  Indian  squeezed  through. 
The  board  was  quickly  and  neatly  replaced,  leaving  no 
trace  of  its  having  been  removed;  so  when  the  crowd  of 
excited  hunters  burst  into  the  store  and  could  not  find 
the  Indian,  they  were  as  puzzled  a  lot  as  ever  lost  a  trail 
upon  open  prairie. 

That  afternoon  I  thought  things  had  quieted  down, 
and  I  saddled  one  of  Lee*s  finest  horses  (Lee  had  brought 
up  a  magnificent  team),  and  led  it  around  to  the  back 
door — of  course  the  Indian  had  been  previously  instructed 
to  mount  and  make  for  his  tribe  as  fast  as  the  horse  would 
carry  him;  but  before  I  rapped  at  the  door  I;  looked 
around,  and  from  the  back  of  the  dance  hall,  a  hundred 
yards  distant,  there  were  fifty  buffalo  guns  leveled  at  me. 
I  knew  those  fellows  had  nothing  against  me,  but  I  was 
afraid  some  of  the  guns  might  go  off  by  accident,  and 
wished  right  there  that  the  ground  would  sink  down  deep 
enough  to  cover  me  from  the  range  of  their  guns.  I  led 
the  horse  back  to  the  stable  as  quickly  and  quietly  as 
possible,  feeling  relieved  when  inside.  I  at  once  dis- 
patched a  courier  to  the  commander  at  the  fort,  with 
the  request  that  he  send  up  a  company  of  cavalry,  but 
he  wouldn't  do  it.  As  soon  as  it  got  dark,  Lee  and  I  got 
in  his  carriage,  loaded  with  buffalo-robes,  had  the  Indian 
rushed  out,  robes  piled  on  top  of  him,  and  went  out  of 
Dodge  on  the  run.  We  met  Captain  Tupper's  troop  of 
the  Sixth  United  States  cavalry  about  a  mile  out,  coming 
after  the  chief.  There  were  no  more  Indians  seen  in 
Dodge  except  under  big  escort. 

The  following  rules  were  posted  in  one  of  the  Dodge 

City  hotels  for  the  guidance  of  guests  (some  say  rules 

were  stolen  from  Mark  Twain's  hotel). 

—161— 


HOTEL  RULES 

"These  are  the  rules  and  regulations  of  this  hotel. 

"This  house  will  be  considered  strictly  intemperate. 

"None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fare. 

"Persons  owning  bills  for  board  w^ill  be  bored  for  bills. 

"Boarders  vi^ho  do  not  v^ish  to  pay  in  advance  are 
requested  to  advance  the  pay. 

"Borders  are  requested  to  wait  on  the  colored  cook 
for  meals. 

"Sheets  will  be  nightly  changed  once  in  six  months — 
oftener  if  necessary. 

"Boarders  are  expected  to  pull  off  their  boots  if  they 
can  conveniently  do  so. 

"Beds  with  or  without  bedbugs. 

"All  moneys  and  other  valuables  are  to  be  left  in 
charge  of  the  proprietor.  This  is  insisted  upon,  as  he  will 
be  held  responsible  for  no  losses." 

And  now  follows  an  early  day  market  report: 

DODGE  CITY  MARKETS 
(Corrected  weekly  by  Wright,  Beverly  &  Company). 
Dodge  City,  Kansas,  Jan.  5th,  1878. 

Flour,  per  100  lbs $2.50      @  $4.00 

Corn  Meal,  per  100  lbs 2.00 

Oats,  per  bu 45 

Corn,  per  bu 56 

Hides,  Buffalo,  per  lb 03% 

Wolf   75 

Coyote    30 

Skunks    10 

Chickens,  dressed,  per  lb 10 

Turkeys,  per  lb i2^/4 

Potatoes,  per  bu 1.40 

Apples,  dried,  per  lb 08      @      .10 

Peaches,  dried,  per  lb 12J4 

Bacon,  per  lb 12V2 

Hams,  per  lb 15      @      .17 

—162— 


@ 

•04'/4 

@ 

1.25 

@ 

.50 

@ 

.50 

Lard,  per  lb 12  @  .14 

Beef,  per  lb 08  @  .10 

Butter,  per  lb 30  @  .35 

Eggs,  per  doz 35 

Salt,  per  bbl 4.50 

Coffee,  per  lb 25  @  .26 

Tea,  per  lb 80  @  i.oo 

Sugar,  per  lb .12  @  .14 

Coal  Oil,  per  gal 50 

Coal,  per  ton   9.00  @  10.00 

I  give  this  market  report  to  show  the  difference 
between  then,  1878,  and  now. 

The  lexicographers  of  today  should  credit  Dodge 
City  with  contributions  to  our  language,  as  certain  signifi- 
cations or  meanings  of  three  words,  now  very  much  used, 
can  be  traced  to  our  early  philologists.  The  words  are 
"stinker,"  "stiff,"  and  "joint."  These  words  are  not  con- 
sidered the  sweetest  nor  most  elegant  in  the  language, 
by  our  institutions  of  learning  nor  in  the  realms  of  culture 
and  refinement,  yet  they  are  very  expressive  and  are 
warranted  by  sufficient  use. 

The  word  "stinker",  or  rather  the  signification  in 
which  it  is  used  when  applied  to  a  person  in  a  contempt- 
uous way,  originated  in  this  way.  In  the  early  days  of 
this  country,  the  buffalo  or  bison  densely  populated  the 
plains.  The  killing  of  this  noble  animal  for  the  hide 
was  a  great  industry,  and  it  was  nothing  uncommon  for 
the  buffalo  hunter  to  get  a  stand  on  a  herd  and  kill  scores 
of  them  in  a  very  short  time.  Such  occurrences  were 
sometimes  in  winter,  and,  before  the  hunters  could  skin 
all  the  animals,  the  carcasses  would  freeze  and  he  would 
be  compelled  to  leave  many  frozen  on  the  prairies.  When 
the  weather  moderated  and  the  carcasses  thawed,  new- 
comers or  "tenderfeet,"  as  we  called  them,  would  skin 
them  for  the  hides.    Natural  causes  and  decay  would 

render  such  hides  very  inferior  and  almost  worthless,  and, 

—163— 


as  these  thrifty  beneficiaries  of  the  prowess  of  the  genuine 
buffalo  hunter  were  despised  by  him,  the  name  "stinker" 
was  originated  and  appHed  to  him,  and  the  word  has 
since  suppHed  the  vocabulary  of  many,  when  their  sys- 
tems were  surcharged  with  contempt  and  hatred. 

The  word  "stiff,"  as  applied  to  people  in  a  contempt- 
uous way,  originated  in  Dodge  City.  The  readers  of  this 
book  will  gather  from  this  record  of  the  early  history  of 
Dodge  City,  the  fact  that  the  lifeless  remains  of  people 
were  a  common  sight  here,  in  those  days,  and  veneration 
and  respect  for  the  dead  was  somewhat  stinted,  unless 
some  tie  of  friendship  or  relationship  existed  with  the 
departed.  As  the  lifeless  body  of  a  human  being  soon 
becomes  rigid,  our  philologists  substituted  the  easily 
spoken  word  "stiff"  for  the  ghostly  word  "corpse,"  in 
referring  to  the  dead  in  which  they  had  no  special  inter- 
est, and,  from  this,  the  word  received  an  appropriate 
application  to  such  people  as  suggest  death  or  worthless- 
ness,  or,  in  other  words,  "dead  ones." 

A  very  common  signification  or  meaning  of  the  word 
"joint"  is  easily  traced  to  Dodge  City,  and  I  here  submit 
my  proof.  I  quote  from  an  edition  of  the  Dodge  City 
Times,  dated  June  2nd,  1877: 

"Washington,  D.  C,  May  17,  '77. 
"Editor  Dodge  City  Times: 

"I  trust  you  will  not  take  this,  from  its  postmark 
outside,  as  being  an  appointment  to  a  lucrative  official 
position. 

"Such  is  not  the  case.  I  write  to  the  far  West  seek- 
ing information.  I  see,  at  times,  in  your  sprightly  paper, 
the  use  of  the  term  or  terms,  'go  to  the  joint,'  or  *gone 
to  the  joint,'  etc. 

"Will  you  please  inform  me  what  it  means? 

"Yours, 
INQUIRER." 

"We  are  always  willing  to  give  the  people  of  Wash- 
ington City  any  information  they  may  desire  on  matters 

—164 — 


of  public  interest.  In  order  that  the  president  and  his 
cabinet  may  get  a  clear  idea  of  this  grave  question,  we 
will  endeavor  to  be  explicit.  Gilmore,  on  municipal  elec- 
tions, page  77,  says,  "The  gang  got  to  the  joint  in  good 
shape.'  This  is  the  best  authority  we  have.  As  an  in- 
stance more  easily  understood  by  the  average  Washing- 
tonian,  suppose  Hayes  and  Morton  should  get  on  a  bender 
and  put  their  jewelry  in  soak  for  booze,  then  it  would  be 
appropriate  to  say  they  *got  to  the  joint'  by  this  means. 
For  further  particulars,  address, 

"L.  McGLUE." 

I  remember  well  the  first  child  born  in  Dodge.  Early 
in  the  morning,  a  young  doctor  came  into  the  only  drug 
store  in  Dodge,  with  a  look  of  thorough  disgust  on  his 
countenance,  saying,  "My  God!  I  did  something  last 
night  that  I  never  thought  is  possible  to  fall  to  my  lot, 
and  I  am  so  ashamed  that  I  never  will  again  practice  in 
Dodge.  I  delivered  an  illegitimate  child  from  a  notorious 
woman,  in  a  house  of  prostitution."  The  druggist  and  I 
both  laughed  at  him  and  told  him  he  must  not  think  of 
leaving  the  profession  for  such  a  little  thing  as  that;  he 
must  keep  right  on  and  fortune  would  sure  follow,  as  it 
was  a  great  field  for  his  profession,  and  we  knew  he 
was  fully  capable;  and  so  he  did,  and  has  become  one  of 
the  most  prominent,  as  well  as  skillful  physicians,  not 
only  of  Dodge  City,  but  the  whole  state  of  Kansas. 

This  was  in  the  fall  of  1872.  Soon  after,  followed 
the  birth  of  Claude,  son  of  Dr.  T.  L.  and  Sallie  McCarty; 
and  close  after  him,  Jesse  Rath  was  born,  son  of  Charles 
and  Carrie  Rath,  who  died  in  infancy.  So  Claude  McCarty 
can  well  claim  the  distinction  of  being  the  first  legitimate 
child  born  in  the  town,  and  the  eldest  native. 


-165— 


Chapter  VIII. 

Populating  Boot  Hill 

npHE  first  man  killed  in  Dodge  City  was  a  big,  tall, 
black  negro  by  the  name  of  Tex,  and  who,  though  a 
little  fresh,  was  inoffensive.  He  was  killed  by  a  gambler 
named  Denver.  Mr.  Kelly  had  a  raised  platform  in  front 
of  his  house,  and  the  darky  was  standing  in  front  and 
below,  in  the  street,  during  some  excitement.  There  was 
a  crowd  gathered,  and  some  shots  were  fired  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowds,  when  this  gambler  fired  at  Texas  and 
he  fell  dead.  No  one  knew  who  fired  the  shot  and  they 
all  thought  it  was  an  accident,  but  years  afterwards  the 
gambler  bragged  about  it.  Some  say  it  was  one  of  the 
most  unprovoked  murders  ever  committed,  and  that  Den- 
ver had  not  the  slightest  cause  to  kill,  but  did  it  out  of 
pure  cussedness,  when  no  one  was  looking.  Others  say 
the  men  had  an  altercation  of  some  kind,  and  Denver  shot 
him  for  fear  Tex  would  get  the  drop  on  him.  Anyhow, 
no  one  knew  who  killed  him,  until  Denver  bragged  about 
it,  a  long  time  afterwards,  and  a  long  way  from  Dodge 
City,  and  said  he  shot  him  in  the  top  of  the  head  just  to 
see  him  kick. 

The  first  big  killing  was  down  in  Tom  Sherman's 
dance  hall,  some  time  afterwards,  between  gamblers  and 
soldiers  from  the  fort,  in  which  row,  I  think,  three  or  four 
were  killed  and  several  wounded.  One  of  the  wounded 
crawled  off  into  the  weeds  where  he  was  found  next 
day,  and,  strange  to  say,  he  got  well,  although  he  was 
shot  all  to  pieces.  There  was  not  much  said  about  this 
fight,  I  think  because  a  soldier  by  the  name  of  Hennessey 
was  killed.  He  was  a  bad  man  and  the  bully  of  the  com- 
pany, and  I  expect  they  thought  he  was  a  good  riddance. 

Before  this  fight,  there  was  "a  man  for  breakfast," 
to  use  a  common  expression,  every  once  in  a  while,  and 

—166— 


this  was  kept  up  all  through  the  winter  of  1872.  It  was  a 
common  occurrence;  in  fact,  so  numerous  were  the  kill- 
ings that  it  is  impossible  to  remember  them  all,  and  I  shall 
only  note  some  of  them.  A  man  by  the  name  of  Brooks, 
acting  assistant-marshal,  shot  Browney,  the  yard-master, 
through  the  head — over  a  girl,  of  course,  by  the  name  of 
Captain  Drew.  Browney  was  removed  to  an  old  deserted 
room  at  the  Dodge  House,  and  his  girl.  Captain  Drew, 
waited  on  him,  and  indeed  she  was  a  faithful  nurse.  The 
ball  entered  the  back  of  his  head,  and  one  could  plainly 
see  the  brains  and  bloody  matter  oozing  out  of  the  wound, 
until  it  mattered  over.  One  of  the  finest  surgeons  in  the 
United  States  army  attended  him.  About  the  second  day 
after  the  shooting,  I  went  with  this  surgeon  to  see  him. 
He  and  his  girl  were  both  crying;  he  was  crying  for 
something  to  eat;  she  was  crying  because  she  could  not 
give  it  to  him.  She  said:  "Doctor,  he  wants  fat  bacon 
and  cabbage  and  potatoes  and  fat  greasy  beef,  and  says 
he's  starving."  The  doctor  said  to  her:  "Oh,  well,  let 
him  have  whatever  he  wants.  It  is  only  a  question  of 
time,  and  short  time,  for  him  on  earth,  but  it  is  astonishing 
how  strong  he  keeps.  You  see,  the  ball  is  in  his  head,  and 
if  I  probe  for  it,  it  will  kill  him  instantly."  Now  there 
was  no  ball  in  his  head.  The  ball  entered  one  side  of  his 
head  and  came  out  the  other,  just  breaking  one  of  the 
brain  or  cell  pans  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  this  only 
was  broken.  The  third  day  and  the  fourth  day  he  was 
alive,  and  the  fifth  day  they  took  him  east  to  a  hospital. 
As  soon  as  the  old  blood  and  matter  was  washed  off,  they 
saw  what  was  the  matter,  and  he  soon  got  well  and  was 
back  at  his  old  job  in  a  few  months. 

A  hunter  by  the  name  of  Kirk  Jordan  (previously 
mentioned),  and  Brooks  had  a  shooting  scrape,  on  the 
street.  Kirk  Jordan  had  his  big  buffalo  gun  and  would 
have  killed  Brooks,  but  the  latter  jumped  behind  a  barrel 
of  water.    The  ball,  they  say,  went  through  the  barrel, 

—167— 


water  and  all,  and  came  out  on  the  other  side,  but  it  had 
lost  its  force.  We  hid  Brooks  under  a  bed,  in  a  livery 
stable,  until  night,  when  I  took  him  to  the  fort,  and  he 
made  the  fort  siding  next  day,  and  took  the  train  for  the 
East.  I  think  these  lessons  were  enough  for  him,  as  he 
never  came  back.   Good  riddance  for  everybody. 

These  barrels  of  water  were  placed  along  the  princi- 
pal streets  for  protection  from  fire,  but  they  were  big 
protection  in  several  shooting  scrapes.  These  shooting 
scrapes,  the  first  year,  ended  in  the  death  of  twenty-five, 
and  perhaps  more  than  double  that  number  wounded.  All 
those  killed  died  with  their  boots  on  and  were  buried  on 
Boot  Hill,  but  few  of  the  number  in  coffins,  on  account 
of  the  high  price  of  lumber  caused  by  the  high  freight 
rates.  Boot  Hill  is  the  highest  and  about  the  most  promi- 
nent hill  in  Dodge  City,  and  is  near  the  center  of  the 
town.  It  derived  its  name  from  the  fact  that  it  was  the 
burying  ground,  in  the  early  days,  of  those  who  died  with 
their  boots  on.  There  were  about  thirty  persons  buried 
there,  all  with  their  boots  on  and  without  coffins. 

Now,  to  protect  ourselves  and  property,  we  were  com- 
pelled to  organize  a  Vigilance  Committee.  Our  very  best 
citizens  promptly  enrolled  themselves,  and,  for  a  while,  it 
fulfilled  its  mission  to  the  letter  and  acted  like  a  charm, 
and  we  were  congratulating  ourselves  on  our  success.  The 
committee  only  had  to  resort  to  extreme  measures  a  few 
times,  and  gave  the  hard  characters  warning  to  leave 
town,  which  they  promptly  did. 

But  what  I  was  afraid  would  happen  did  happen.  I 
had  pleaded  and  argued  against  the  organization  for  this 
reason,  namely:  hard,  bad  men  kept  creeping  in  and  join- 
ing until  they  outnumbered  the  men  who  had  joined  it 
for  the  public  good — until  they  greatly  outnumbered  the 
good  members,  and  when  they  felt  themselves  in  power, 
they  proceeded  to  use  that  power  to  avenge  their  griev- 
ances and  for  their  own  selfish  purposes,  until  it  was  a 
farce  as  well  as  an  outrage  on  common  decency.  They  got 

—168— 


so  notoriously  bad  and  committed  so  many  crimes,  that 
the  good  members  deserted  them,  and  the  people  arose 
in  their  might  and  put  a  stop  to  their  doings.  They  had 
gone  too  far,  and  saw  their  mistake  after  it  was  too  late. 
The  last  straw  was  the  cold-blooded,  brutal  murder  of  a 
polite,  inoffensive,  industrious  negro  named  Taylor,  who 
drove  a  hack  between  the  fort  and  Dodge  City.  Whilst 
Taylor  was  in  a  store,  making  purchases,  a  lot  of  drunken 
fellows  got  into  his  wagon  and  was  driving  it  off.  When 
Taylor  ran  out  and  tried  to  stop  them,  they  say  a  man, 
by  the  name  of  Scotty,  shot  him,  and,  after  Taylor  fell, 
several  of  them  kept  pumping  lead  into  him.  This  created 
a  big  row,  as  the  negro  had  been  a  servant  for  Colonel 
Richard  I.  Dodge,  commander  of  the  fort,  who  took  up 
his  cause  and  sent  some  of  them  to  the  penitentiary. 
Scotty  got  away  and  was  never  heard  of  afterwards. 

When  railroads  and  other  companies  wanted  fighting 
men  (or  gunmen,  as  they  are  now  called),  to  protect  their 
interests,  they  came  to  Dodge  City  after  them,  and  here 
they  could  sure  be  found.  Large  sums  of  money  were 
paid  out  to  them,  and  here  they  came  back  to  spend  it. 
This  all  added  to  Dodge's  notoriety,  and  many  a  bunch 
of  gunmen  went  from  Dodge.  Besides  these  men  being 
good  shots,  they  did  not  know  what  fear  was — they  had 
been  too  well  trained  by  experience  and  hardships.  The 
buffalo  hunters  lived  on  the  prairie  or  out  in  the  open, 
enduring  all  kinds  of  weather,  and  living  on  wild  game, 
often  without  bread,  and  scarcely  ever  did  they  have 
vegetables  of  any  description.  Strong,  black  coffee  was 
their  drink,  as  water  was  scarce  and  hardly  ever  pure, 
and  they  were  often  out  for  six  months  without  seeing 
inside  of  a  house.  The  cowboys  were  about  as  hardy  and 
wild,  as  they,  too,  were  in  the  open  for  months  without 
coming  in  contact  with  civilization,  and  when  they 
reached  Dodge  City,  they  made  Rome  howl.  The  freight- 
ers were  about  the  same  kind  of  animals,  perfectly  fear- 
less.   Most  of  these  men  were  naturally  brave,  and  their 

—169— 


manner  of  living  made  them  more  so.  Indeed,  they  did 
not  know  fear,  or  any  such  thing  as  sickness — poorly  fed 
and  poorer  clad;  but  they  enjoyed  good  pay  for  the  pri- 
vations they  endured,  and  vv^hen  these  three  elements  got 
together,  vi^ith  a  few^  drinks  of  red  liquor  under  their 
belts,  you  could  reckon  there  w^as  something  doing.  They 
feared  neither  God,  man,  nor  the  devil,  and  so  reckless 
they  vi^ould  pit  themselves,  like  Ajax,  against  lightning, 
if  they  ran  into  it. 

It  had  always  been  the  cowboys'  boast  as  well  as  de- 
light to  intimidate  the  officers  of  every  town  on  the  trail, 
run  the  officers  out  of  town,  and  run  the  town  themselves, 
shooting  up  buildings,  through  doors  and  windows,  and 
even  at  innocent  persons  on  the  street,  just  for  amusement, 
but  not  so  in  Dodge.  They  only  tried  it  a  few  times,  and 
they  got  such  a  dose,  they  never  attempted  it  again.  You 
see,  here  the  cowboys  were  up  against  a  tougher  crowd 
than  themselves  and  equally  as  brave  and  reckless,  and 
they  were  the  hunters,  and  freighters — "bull- whackers" 
and  "mule-skinners",  they  were  called.  The  good  citizens 
of  Dodge  were  wise  enough  to  choose  officers  who  were 
equal  to  the  emergency.  The  high  officials  of  the  Santa 
Fe  Railroad  wrote  me  several  times  not  to  choose  such 
rough  officers — to  get  nice,  gentlemanly,  young  fellows 
to  look  after  the  welfare  of  Dodge  and  enforce  its  laws. 
I  promptly  asnwered  them  back  that  you  must  fight  the 
devil  with  fire,  and,  if  we  put  in  a  tenderfoot  for  marshal, 
they  would  run  him  out  of  town.  We  had  to  put  in  men 
who  were  good  shots  and  would  sure  go  to  front  when 
they  were  called  on,  and  these  desperadoes  knew  it. 

The  last  time  the  cowboys  attempted  to  run  the  town, 
they  had  chosen  their  time  well.  Along  late  in  the  after- 
noon was  the  quiet  time  in  Dodge;  the  marshal  took  his 
rest  then,  for  this  reason.  So  the  cowboys  tanked  up 
pretty  well,  jumped  their  horses,  and  rode  recklessly  up 
and  down  Front  Street,  shooting  their  guns  and  firing 
through  doors  and  windows,  and  then  making  a  dash  for 

—170— 


camp.  But  before  they  got  to  the  bridge,  Jack  Bridges, 
our  marshal,  was  out  with  a  big  buflalo  gun,  and  he 
dropped  one  of  them,  his  horse  went  on,  and  so  did  the 
others.  It  was  a  long  shot  and  probably  a  chance  one,  as 
Jack  was  several  hundred  yards  distant. 

There  was  big  excitement  over  this.  I  said:  "Put 
me  on  the  jury  and  I  will  be  elected  foreman  and  settle 
this  question  forever."  I  said  to  the  jury:  "We  must 
bring  in  a  verdict  of  justifiable  homicide.  We  are  bound 
to  do  this  to  protect  our  officers  and  save  further  killings. 
It  is  the  best  thing  we  can  do  for  both  sides.'  Some  ■ 
argued  that  these  men  had  stopped  their  lawlessness,  were 
trying  to  get  back  to  camp,  were  nearly  out  of  the  town 
limits,  and  the  officer  ought  to  have  let  them  go;  and  if 
we  returned  such  a  verdict,  the  stock  men  would  boycott 
me,  and,  instead  of  my  store  being  headquarters  for  the 
stock  men  and  selling  them  more  than  twice  the  amount 
of  goods  that  all  the  other  stores  sold  together,  they 
would  quit  me  entirely  and  I  would  sell  them  nothing.  I 
said:  "I  will  risk  all  that.  They  may  be  angry  at  first,  but 
when  they  reflect  that  if  we  had  condemned  the  officer 
for  shooting  the  cowboy,  it  would  give  them  encourage- 
ment, and  they  would  come  over  and  shoot  up  the  town, 
regardless  of  consequences,  and  in  the  end  there  would  be 
a  dozen  killed."  I  was  satisfied  the  part  we  took  would 
stop  it  forever;  and  so  it  did.  As  soon  as  the  stock  men 
got  over  their  anger,  they  came  to  me  and  congratulated 
me  on  the  stand  I  took,  and  said  they  could  see  it  now 
in  the  light  I  presented  it. 

There  was  no  more  shooting  up  the  town.  Strict 

orders  were  given  by  the  marshal,  when  cowboys  rode  in, 

to  take  their  guns  out  of  the  holsters,  and  bring  them 

across  to  Wright  &  Beverley's  store,  where  a  receipt  was 

given  for  them.  And,  my!  what  piles  there  were  of  them. 

At  times  they  were  piled  up  by  the  hundred.  This  order 

was  strictly  obeyed  and  proved  to  be  a  grand  success, 

because  many  of  the  cowboys  would  proceed  at  once  to 

—171— 


tank  up,  and  many  would  have  been  the  kilHngs  if  they 
could  have  got  their  guns  when  they  were  drunk;  but 
they  were  never  given  back  unless  the  owners  were  per- 
fectly sober. 

In  the  spring  of  1878,  there  was  a  big  fight  between 
Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railroad  and  the  Denver 
&  Rio  Grande,  to  get  possession  of  and  hold  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  the  Arkansas  River  where  it  comes  out  of  the 
mountains  just  above  Canon  City,  Colorado.  Of  course, 
the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  folks  came  to  Dodge 
City  for  fighters  and  gunmen.  It  was  natural  for  them 
to  do  so,  for  where  in  the  whole  universe  were  there  to 
be  found  bitter  men  for  a  desperate  encounter  of  this  kind. 
Dodge  City  bred  such  bold,  reckless  men,  and  it  was  their 
pride  and  delight  to  be  called  upon  to  do  such  work.  They 
were  quick  and  accurate  on  the  trigger,  and  these  little 
encounters  kept  them  in  good  training.  They  were  called 
to  arms  by  the  railroad  agent,  Mr.  J.  H.  Phillips.  Twenty 
of  the  brave  boys  promptly  responded,  among  whom 
might  be  numbered  some  of  Dodge's  most  accomplished 
sluggers  and  bruisers  and  dead  shots,  headed  by  the  gal- 
lant Captain  Webb.  They  put  down  their  names  with  a 
firm  resolve  to  get  to  the  joint  in  creditable  style,  in  case 
of  danger.   The  Dodge  City  Times  remarks: 

"Towering  like  a  giant  among  smaller  men,  was  one 
of  Erin's  bravest  sons  whose  name  is  Kinch  Riley.  Jerry 
Converse,  a  Scotchman,  descendant  from  a  warlike  clan, 
joined  the  ranks  of  war.  There  were  other  braves  who 
joined  the  ranks,  but  we  are  unable  to  get  a  list  of  their 
names.  We  will  bet  a  ten-cent  note  they  clear  the  track 
of  every  obstruction."  Which  they  did  in  creditable  style. 

Shooting  all  along  the  line,  and  only  one  man  hurt! 
This  does  seem  marvelous,  for  the  number  of  shots  fired, 
yet  the  record  is  true  of  the  story  I  am  about  to  relate. 
This  was  one  of  the  most  daring  and  dangerous  shooting 
scrapes  that  Dodge  City  has  ever  experienced,  and  God 
knows,  she  has  had  many  of  them. 

—172— 


It  seems  that  Peacock  and  James  Masterson,  a  second 
brother  of  Bat,  ran  a  dance  hall  together.  For  some 
reason,  Masterson  wanted  to  discharge  their  bar-keeper, 
Al  Updegraph,  a  brother-in-law  of  Peacock,  which  Pea- 
cock refused  to  do,  over  which  they  had  serious  difficulty; 
and  James  Masterson  telegraphed  his  brother.  Bat,  to 
come  and  help  him  out  of  his  difficulties.  I  expect  he 
made  his  story  big,  for  he  was  in  great  danger,  if  the 
threats  had  been  carried  out.  Bat  thought  so,  at  least,  for 
he  came  at  once,  with  a  friend. 

Soon  after  his  arrival,  he  saw  Peaccok  and  Updegraph 
going  toward  the  depot.  Bat  holloed  to  them  to  stop, 
which  I  expect  they  thought  a  challenge,  and  each  made 
for  the  corner  of  the  little  calaboose  across  the  street.  Bat 
droppd  behind  a  railroad  cut,  and  the  ball  opened;  and 
it  was  hot  and  heavy,  for  about  ten  minutes,  when  parties 
from  each  side  the  street  took  a  hand.  One  side  was  firing 
across  at  the  other,  and  vice  versa,  the  combatants  being 
in  the  center.  When  Updegraph  was  supposed  to  be  mor- 
tally wounded  and  his  ammunition  exhausted,  he  turned 
and  ran  to  his  side  of  the  street,  and,  after  a  little,  so  did 
Peacock,  when  Bat  walked  back  to  the  opposite  side  and 
gave  himself  up  to  the  officers.  The  houses  were  riddled 
on  each  side  of  the  street.  Some  had  three  or  four  balls 
in  them;  and  no  one  seemed  to  know  who  did  the  shoot- 
ing, outside  the  parties  directly  concerned.  It  caused 
great  excitement,  at  first,  but  the  cooler  heads  thought 
discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor,  and,  as  both  parties 
were  to  blame,  they  settled  the  difficulties  amicably,  and 
Bat  took  his  brother  away  with  him.  Both  parties  dis- 
played great  courage.  They  stood  up  and  shot  at  each 
other  until  their  ammunition  was  exhausted. 

Though  all  did  not  contribute  directly  to  the  popula- 
tion of  Boot  Hill,  there  were  many  deeds  of  violence  com- 
mitted in  Dodge  City's  first  ten  years  of  life,  that  paral- 
leled any  which  added  a  subject  for  interment  in  that 

—173— 


primitive  burying  ground.  Such  a  case  was  the  shooting 
of  Dora  Hand,  a  celebrated  actress. 

The  kiUing  of  Dora  Hand  was  an  accident;  still,  it 
was  intended  for  a  cold-blooded  murder,  so  was  accidental 
only  in  the  victim  that  suffered.  It  seems  that  Mayor 
James  Kelly  and  a  very  rich  cattleman's  son,  who  had 
marketed  many  thousand  head  of  cattle  in  Dodge,  during 
the  summer,  had  a  drunken  altercation.  It  did  not  amount 
to  much,  at  the  time,  but,  to  do  the  subject  justice,  they 
say  that  Kelly  did  treat  Kennedy  badly.  Anyhow,  Ken- 
nedy got  the  worst  of  it.  This  aroused  his  half-breed 
nature.  He  quietly  went  to  Kansas  City,  bought  him  the 
best  horse  that  money  could  secure,  and  brought  him  back 
to  Dodge.  In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Kelly  had  left  his  place 
of  abode,  on  account  of  sickness,  and  Miss  Dora  Hai)d 
was  occupying  his  residence  and  bed.  Kennedy,  of  course, 
was  not  aware  of  this.  During  the  night  of  his  return,  or 
about  four  o'clock  next  morning,  he  ordered  his  horse  and 
went  to  Kelly's  residence  and  fired  two  shots  through  the 
door,  without  dismounting,  and  rode  away.  The  ball 
struck  Miss  Hand  in  the  right  side  under  the  arm,  killing 
her  instantly.   She  never  woke  up. 

Kennedy  took  a  direction  just  opposite  to  his  ranch. 
The  officers  had  reason  to  believe  who  did  the  killing, 
but  did  not  start  in  pursuit  until  the  afternoon.  The  of- 
ficers in  pursuit  were  Sheriff  Masterson,  Wyat  Erb, 
Charles  Bassett,  Duffy,  and  William  Tighlman,  as  in- 
trepid a  posse  as  ever  pulled  a  trigger.  They  went  as  far 
as  Meade  City,  where  they  knew  their  quarry  had  to  pass 
and  went  into  camp  in  a  very  careless  manner.  In  fact, 
they  arranged  so  as  to  completely  throw  Kennedy  off  his 
guard,  and  he  rode  right  into  them,  when  he  was  ordered 
three  times  to  throw  up  his  hands.  Instead  of  doing  so, 
he  struck  his  horse  with  his  quirt,  when  several  shots 
were  fired  by  the  officers,  one  shot  taking  effect  in  his 
left  shoulder,  making  a  dangerous  wound.  Three  shots 
struck  the  horse,  killing  him  instantly.   The  horse  fell 

—174— 


partly  on  Kennedy,  and  Sheriff  Masterson  said,  in  pulling 
him  out,  he  had  hold  of  the  wounded  arm  and  could  hear 
the  bones  craunch.  Not  a  groan  did  Kennedy  let  out  of 
him,  although  the  pain  must  have  been  fearful.  And 
all  he  said  was,  "You  sons  of  b — ,  I  will  get  even  with  you 
for  this." 

Under  the  skillful  operation  of  Drs.  McCarty  and 
Tremaine,  Kennedy  recovered,  after  a  long  sickness.  They 
took  four  inches  of  the  bone  out,  near  the  elbow.  Of 
course,  the  arm  was  useless,  but  he  used  the  other  well 
enough  to  kill  several  people  afterwards,  but  finally  met 
his  death  by  some  one  a  little  quicker  on  the  trigger  than 
himself.  Miss  Dora  Hand  was  a  celebrated  actress  and 
would  have  made  her  mark  should  she  have  lived. 
-  One  Sunday  night  in  October,  1883,  there  was  a  fatal 
encounter  between  two  negroes,  Henry  Hilton  and  Nig- 
ger Bill,  two  as  brave  and  desperate  characters  as  ever 
belonged  to  the  colored  race.  Some  said  they  were  both 
struck  on  the  same  girl  and  this  was  the  cause. 

Henry  was  under  bonds  for  murder,  of  which  the 
following  is  the  circumstances.  Negro  Henry  was  the 
owner  of  a  ranch  and  a  little  bunch  of  cattle.  Coming  in 
with  a  lot  of  white  cowboys,  they  began  joshing  Henry, 
and  one  of  them  attempted  to  throw  a  rope  over  him. 
Henry  warned  them  he  would  not  stand  any  such  rough 
treatment,  if  he  was  a  nigger.  He  did  this  in  a  dignified 
and  determined  manner.  When  one  rode  up  and  lassoed 
him,  almost  jerking  him  from  his  horse,  Henry  pulled  his 
gun  and  killed  him.  About  half  of  the  cowboys  said  he 
was  justifiable  in  killing  his  man;  it  was  self  defense,  for 
if  he  had  not  killed  him,  he  would  have  jerked  him  from 
his  horse  and  probably  killed  Henry. 

Negro  Bill  Smith  was  equally  brave,  and  had  been 
tried  more  than  once.  They  were  both  found,  locked  in 
each  other's  arms  (you  might  say),  the  next  morning, 
lying  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  bar,  their  empty  six- 
shooters  lying  by  the  side  of  each  one.  The  affair  must 

—175— 


have  occurred  some  time  after  midnight,  but  no  one  was 
on  hand  to  see  the  fight,  and  they  died  without  a  witness. 
•  T.  C.  Nixon,  assistant  city  marshal,  was  murdered  by 
Dave  Mathers,  known  as  "Mysterious  Dave",  on  the  eve- 
ning of  July  21  St,  1884.  The  cause  of  the  shooting  was  on 
account  of  a  shooting  altercation  between  the  two  on  the 
Friday  evening  previous.  In  this  instance,  it  is  alleged, 
Nixon  had  fired  on  Mathers,  the  shot  taking  no  effect. 
On  the  following  Monday  evening  Mathers  called  to 
Nixon,  and  fired  the  fatal  shot.  This  circumstance  is 
mentioned  as  one  of  the  cold-blooded  deeds,  frequently 
taking  place  in  frontier  days.  And,  as  usual,  to  use  the 
French  proverb  for  the  cause,  "Search  the  woman." 

A  wild  tale  of  the  plains  is  an  account  of  a  horrible 
crime  committed  in  Nebraska,  and  the  story  seems  almost 
incredible.  A  young  Englishman,  violating  the  confidence 
of  his  friend,  a  ranchman,  is  found  in  bed  with  the  latter 's 
wife.  This  continues  for  some  months  until,  in  the  latter 
part  of  May,  1884,  one  of  the  cowboys,  who  had  a  griev- 
ance against  Burbank,  surprised  him  and  Mrs.  Wilson  in 
a  compromising  situation  and  reported  it  to  the  woman's 
husband,  whose  jealousy  had  already  been  aroused.  At 
night,  Burbank  was  captured  while  asleep  in  bed,  by 
Wilson  and  three  of  his  men,  and  bound  before  he  had 
any  show  to  make  resistance.  After  mutilating  him  in 
a  shocking  manner,  Burbank  had  been  stripped  of  every 
bit  of  clothing  and  bound  on  the  back  of  a  wild  broncho, 
which  was  started  off  by  a  vigorous  lashing.  Before  morn- 
ing, Burbank  became  unconscious,  and  was,  therefore, 
unable  to  tell  anything  about  his  terrible  trip.  He  thinks 
the  outrage  was  committed  on  the  night  of  May  27th, 
and  he  was  rescued  on  the  morning  of  June  3rd,  which 
would  make  seven  days  that  he  had  been  traveling  about 
the  plains  on  the  horse's  back,  without  food  or  drink,  and 
exposed  to  the  sun  and  wind.  Wilson's  ranch  is  two 
hundred  miles  from  the  spot  where  Burbank  was  found, 
but  it  is  hardly  probable  that  the  broncho  took  a  direct 

—176— 


BO  •, 


course,  and,  therefore  must  have  covered  many  more  miles 
in  his  wild  journey.  When  fully  restored  to  health,  Bur- 
bank  proposed  to  make  a  visit  of  retaliation  on  Wilson, 
but  it  is  unknown  what  took  place. 

The  young  man  was  unconscious  when  found,  and 
his  recovery  was  slow.  The  details,  in  full,  of  the  story, 
would  lend  credence  to  the  tale;  but  this  modern  Mazep- 
pa  suffered  a  greater  ordeal  than  the  orthodox  Mazeppa. 
This  story  is  vouched  for  as  true,  and  it  is  printed  in  these 
pages  as  an  example  of  plains'  civilization. 

"Odd  characters"  would  hardly  express  the  meaning 
of  the  term,  "bad  men" — the  gun  shooters  of  the  frontier 
days;  and  many  of  these  men  had  a  habitation  in  Dodge 
City.  There  was  Wild  Bill,  who  was  gentle  in  manner; 
Buffalo  Bill,  who  was  a  typical  plains  gentleman;  Cher- 
okee Bill,  with  too  many  Indian  characteristics  to  be  des- 
ignated otherwise;  Prairie  Dog  Dave,  uncompromising 
and  turbulent;  Mysterious  Dave,  who  stealthily  employed 
his  time;  Fat  Jack,  a  jolly  fellow  and  wore  good  clothes; 
Cock-Eyed  Frank,  credited  with  drowning  a  man  at 
Dodge  City;  Dutch  Henry,  a  man  of  passive  nature,  but 
a  slick  one  in  horses  and  murders;  and  many  others  too 
numerous  to  mention;  and  many  of  them,  no  doubt, 
have  paid  the  penalty  of  their  crimes. 

Several  times,  in  these  pages,  the  "dead  line"  is  men- 
tioned. The  term  had  two  meanings,  in  early  Dodge 
phraseology.  One  was  used  in  connection  with  the  cattle 
trade;  the  other  referred  to  the  deeds  of  violence  which 
were  so  frequent  in  the  border  town,  and  was  an  imagin- 
ary line,  running  east  and  west,  south  of  the  railroad 
track  in  Dodge  City,  having  particular  reference  to  the 
danger  of  passing  this  line  after  nine  o'clock  of  an  eve- 
ning, owing  to  the  vicious  character  of  certain  citizens 
who  haunted  the  south  side.  If  a  tenderfoot  crossed  this 
"dead"  line  after  the  hour  named,  he  was  likely  to  be- 
come a  "creature  of  circumstances";  and  yet,  there  were 

— 177-t- 


men  who  did  not  heed  the  warning,  and  took  their  Hves 
in  their  own  hands. 

"Wicked  Dodge"  was  frequently  done  up  in  prose 
and  verse,  and  its  deeds  atoned  for  in  extenuating  circum- 
stances; but  in  every  phase  of  betterment  the  well  being 
was  given  newspaper  mention,  for  it  is  stated:  "Dodge 
City  is  not  the  town  it  used  to  be.  That  is,  it  is  not  so 
bad  a  place  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  who  do  not  sanction 
outlawry  and  lewdness."  But  Dodge  City  progressed  in 
morality  and  goodness  until  it  became  a  city  of  excellent 
character. 

Even  the  memory  of  the  wild,  wicked  days  will  soon 
be  effaced,  but,  as  yet,  when  one  recounts  their  wild 
stories  and  looks  upon  the  scenes  of  that  wildness  and 
wickedness,  one  can  almost  fancy  the  shades  of  defunct 
bad  men  still  walking  up  and  down  their  old  haunts  and 
glaring  savagely  at  the  insipidity  of  their  present  civilized 
aspect.  The  "Denver  Republican"  expresses  a  similar 
thought  in  a  certain  short  poem,  thus: 

THE  TWO-GUN  MAN 

The  Two-Gun  Man  walked  through  the  town. 

And  found  the  sidewalk  clear; 
He  looked  around,  with  ugly  frown, 

But  not  a  soul  was  near. 
The  streets  were  silent.  Loud  and  shrill, 

No  cowboy  raised  a  shout; 
Like  panther  bent  upon  the  kill. 

The  Two-Gun  Man  walked  out. 

The  Two-Gun  Man  was  small  and  quick; 

His  eyes  were  narrow  slits; 
He  didn't  hail  from  Bitter  Creek, 

Nor  shoot  the  town  to  bits; 
He  drank,  alone,  deep  draughts  of  sin. 

Then  pushed  away  his  glass 
—178— 


And  silenced  was  each  dance  halPs  din, 
When  by  the  door  he'd  pass. 

One  day,  rode  forth  this  man  of  wrath, 

Upon  the  distant  plain, 
And  ne'er  did  he  retrace  his  path. 

Nor  was  he  seen  again; 
The  cow  town  fell  into  decay; 

No  spurred  heels  pressed  its  walks; 
But,  through  its  grass-grown  ways,  they  say. 

The  Two-Gun  Man  still  stalks. 


-179- 


Chapter  IX. 

The  Administration  of  Justice  on  the  Frontier 

T^HE  Story  of  Justice  Joyce,  in  a  previous  chapter,  suffi- 
■*"  ciently  proves  that  the  interpretation  of  lav^  and  the 
proceedings  of  courts  of  justice,  were,  to  say  the  least, 
irregular,  in  their  infant  days  on  the  Kansas  plains. 
That  Joyce  v^as  not  alone  in  his  peculiar  legal  practices, 
is  verified  by  authentic  accounts  of  similar  practices  in 
other  places,  not  the  least  of  which  was  Dodge  City. 

A  cattleman  by  the  name  of  Peppard  was  one  whom 
the  officers  disliked  to  see  come  to  Dodge.  Invariably 
rows  began  then,  and  he  was  in  all  of  them.  While  driv- 
ing up  a  bunch  of  beeves  to  Dodge,  so  the  story  goes, 
Peppard's  boss  killed  the  negro  cook.  It  has  been  said 
that  the  boss  and  Peppard  were  great  friends  and  chums, 
and  the  boss  killed  the  cook  because  Peppard  wanted  him 
killed.  Anyway,  a  short  time  after  they  arrived  at  Dodge, 
Peppard  and  his  boss  fell  out.  The  next  morning  Peppard 
saw  him  behind  a  bar  in  one  of  the  saloons,  and  straight- 
way procured  a  shotgun  loaded  with  buck,  and  turned 
it  loose  at  the  boss,  who  dodged  behind  the  ice  chest, 
which  was  riddled.  A  very  narrow  escape  for  the  boss 
it  was.  Peppard  then  took  a  man  and  dug  up  the  dead 
negro,  chopped  off  his  head  with  an  ax,  brought  it  in  a 
sack  to  within  thirty  miles  of  Dodge,  when  nightful 
overtook  them  and  they  had  to  lay  out.  The  negro  had 
been  dead  two  weeks,  and  it  was  very  warm  weather. 
Wolves  were  attracted  by  the  scent,  and  made  a  most 
terrible  racket  around  the  camp  fire,  and  it  was  decidedly 
unpleasant  for  the  two  men.  Peppard's  man  weakened 
first  and  said  they  must  remove  the  head  or  the  camp. 
Inasmuch  as  the  head  was  the  easier  to  remove,  they  took 
it  a  mile  or  two  away.  Then  the  wolves  took  it  and  the 
sack  several  miles  further,  and  they  had  much  difficulty 

—180— 


in  finding  it.  At  last  it  was  produced  in  court  with  the 
bullet-hole  in  the  skull,  and  the  perplexing  question  was 
sprung  on  the  court  as  to  its  jurisdiction  to  hold  an  in- 
quest when  only  a  fractional  part  of  the  remains  was  pro- 
duced in  court.  The  case  was  ably  argued,  pro  and  con. 
Those  in  favor  of  holding  the  inquest  maintained  that  the 
production  of  the  head  in  court  included  the  other  nec- 
essary parts  of  the  anatomy,  and  was  the  best  evidence 
on  earth  of  his  demise,  and  that  the  bullet-hole  was  a 
silent  witness  of  his  taking-off.  The  opposition  argued 
that  if  the  court  had  jurisdiction  to  hold  an  inquest  on 
the  head,  there  was  no  reason  why  the  courts  of  Com- 
anche county  and  other  localities  could  not  do  the  same 
on  any  other  fractional  part  of  the  anatomy  which  might 
be  found  scattered  over  their  bailiwick.  The  court,  after 
mature  deliberation,  decided  to  give  continuance  until 
such  time  as  the  rest  of  the  remains  could  be  produced  in 
court.  Peppard  left  the  town  disgusted  with  the  deci- 
sion, and,  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary,  the  case  is  still 
docketed  for  continuance. 

Here  is  an  early  day  account  of  a  proceeding  in  the 
Dodge  City  Police  Court: 

"  'The  marshal  will  preserve  strict  order,'  said  the 
judge.  'Any  person  caught  throwing  turnips,  cigar 
stumps,  beets,  or  old  quids  of  tobacco,  at  this  court,  will 
be  immediately  arraigned  before  this  bar  of  justice." 
Then  Joe  looked  savagely  at  the  mob  in  attendance, 
itched  his  ivory  handle  a  little  to  the  left,  and  adjusted 
his  mustache.  'Trot  out  the  wicked  and  unfortunate,  and 
let  the  cotillion  commence,'  said  the  judge. 

"  'City  vs.  James  Martin' — but  just  then,  a  complaint 
not  on  file  had  to  be  attended  to,  and  'Reverent'  John 
Walsh,  of  Las  Animas,  took  the  throne  of  justice,  while 
the  judge  stepped  over  to  Hoover's,  for  a  drink  of  old  rye 
to  brace  him  up  for  the  ordeal  to  come. 

"You  are  here  for  horse  stealing,"  says  Walsh.    "I 

can  clean  out  the  d — d  court,"  says  Martin,  and  the  city 

—181— 


attorney  was  banged  into  a  pigeon-hole  in  the  desk,  the 
table  upset,  the  windows  kicked  out,  and  the  railing 
broke  down.  When  order  was  restored,  Joe's  thumb  was 
'some  chawed,'  Assistant  Marshal  Masterson's  nose  sliced 
a  trifle,  and  the  rantankerous  originator  of  all  this  trouble, 
James  Martin,  Esquire,  was  bleeding  from  a  half  dozen 
cuts  on  the  head,  inflicted  by  Masterson's  revolver.  Then 
Walsh  was  deposed  and  Judge  Frost  took  his  seat,  chew- 
ing burnt  coffee  for  his  complexion. 

"The  evidence  was  brief  and  to  the  point.  'Again,' 
said  the  judge,  as  he  rested  his  alabaster  brow  on  his  left 
paw,  'do  you  appear  within  this  sacred  realm,  of  which 
I,  and  I  only,  am  high  muck-i-muck.  You  have  disturbed 
the  quiet  of  our  lovely  village.  Why,  instead  of  letting 
the  demon  of  passion  fever  your  brain  into  this  fray,  did 
you  not  shake  hands  and  call  it  all  a  mistake.  Then  the 
lion  and  the  lamb  would  have  lain  down  together,  and 
white-robed  Peace  would  have  fanned  you  with  her 
silvery  wings,  and  elevated  your  thoughts  to  the  good  and 
pure  by  her  smiles  of  approbation.  But,  no!  You  went 
to  chawing  and  clawing  and  pulling  hair.  It's  ten  dol- 
lars and  costs,  Mr.  Martin.' 

"  'Make  way  for  the  witnesses,'  says  Joe,  as  he  winks 
at  the  two  coons  that  come  to  the  front,  and  plants  one  on 
each  side  of  Mr.  Morphy  who  appears  for  the  defendant. 
'A  thorn  between  two  roses.' 

"It  was  the  City  vs.  Monroe  Henderson,  all  being 
'niggas'  except  the  city  attorney  and  Mr.  Morphy.  The 
prosecuting  witness.  Miss  Carrie,  looked  'the  last  rose  of 
summer  all  faded  and  gone.'  Her  best  heart's  blood 
(pumped  from  her  nose)  was  freely  bespattering  the  light 
folds  which  but  feebly  hid  her  palpitating  bosom.  Her 
star-board  eye  was  closed,  and  a  lump  like  a  burnt  biscuit 
ornamented  her  forehead.  The  evidence  showed  that  the 
idol  of  her  affections,  a  certain  moke  named  Harris,  had 
first  busted  her  eye,  lossened  her  ribs,  and  kicked  the 
stuffing  generally  out  of  Miss  Carrie.    Carrie  then  got 

—182— 


on  the  warpath,  procured  a  hollow-ground  razor,  flung 
tin  cans  at  the  defendant,  and  used  such  naughty  language 
as  made  the  judge  breathe  a  silent  prayer,  and  caused 
Walsh  to  take  to  the  open  air  in  horror.  But  the  fact 
still  remained  that  the  defendant  had  'pasted'  her  one 
on  the  nose.  The  city  attorney  dwelt  upon  the  heinous- 
ness  of  a  strong  giant  man  smiting  a  frail  woman.  Mr. 
Morphy,  for  the  defendant,  told  two  or  three  good  stories, 
bragged  on  the  court,  winked  at  the  witnesses,  and 
thought  he  had  a  good  case;  but  the  marble  jaws  of  justice 
snapped  with  firmness,  and  it  was  five  dollars  and  costs, 
and  the  court  stood  adjourned. 

Joe  Waters  tells  a  humorous  story  which  is  a  fair 
specimen  of  the  rough  verbal  joking,  common  to  early 
day  conservation.  It  was  issued  in  1881,  is  entitled, 
"The  Attorney  for  Jesus,"  and  runs  as  follows,  the  loca- 
tion being  the  Ford  county  court  at  Dodge  City,  of  course; 
and  Waters  the  prosecuting  attorney.  The  case  appeared 
on  the  docket  entitled,  "The  State  of  Kansas  vs.  Jesus 
Perea,"  was  solemnly  called  by  the  judge,  and  the  pro- 
ceedings are  in  this  wise,  by  Waters: 

"  The  State  vs.  Jesus  Perea,'  the  court  now  calls; 
*I  appear  for  Jesus,'  Gryden  bawls; 
*His  last  name  you  will  please  to  state. 
Or,  Harry,  I  will  fine  you,  sure  as  fate.' 

"  Terea,'  says  Gryden,  so  low  the  court  could  hardly 

hear, 
*He  is  the  man  for  whom  I  appear;' 
Says  the  court,  sotto  voce,  'When  the  savior  employs  such 

as  him. 
Our  chances  for  heaven  are  getting  quite  slim." ' 

The  wit  or  humor  of  attorney  and  court  was  not  con- 
fined to  bench  and  bar,  but  the  following  is  a  terse  argu- 
ment by  a  lay  woman: 

"A  good  story  is  told  of  a  Dodge  City  divorce  suit. 

The  jury  refused  to  grant  the  lady  a  divorce,  and,  when 

—183— 


the  court  inquired  if  she  would  Hke  to  *poll  the  jury,' 
she  said:  That  is  just  what  I  would  delight  to  do  if  your 
honor  will  give  me  a  pole;'  and  the  glance  she  gave  the 
jury  made  the  cold  chills  run  up  and  down  their  spinal 
columns." 

Dodge  City  had  some  unique  characters  in  the  judicial 
harness.  Bill  Nye,  the  humorist  of  the  Laramie,  Wyom- 
ing, "Boomerang,"  has  a  story  about  "Mcintosh  on 
Fees,"  a  justice  of  the  peace  named  Mcintosh  furnishing 
the  humorist  with  his  droll  account.  On  one  occasion,  in 
a  case  before  Justice  Mcintosh,  the  jury  rendered  a  ver- 
dict for  the  plaintiff  who  was  unable  to  pay  the  fees;  so 
the  justice  promptly  reversed  the  judgment  in  favor  of 
the  defendant  who  made  good.  The  plaintiff  appealed 
the  case,  but  was  killed  one  morning  before  breakfast, 
prior  to  the  session  of  the  circuit  court  which  was  to 
dispose  of  the  case. 

"Mcintosh  on  Fees"  didn't  know  the  difference 
between  quo  warranto  and  the  erysipelas,  but  he  had  more 
dignity  than  the  chief  justice  of  the  supreme  court  of  the 
United  States.  Once,  however,  his  dignity  was  seriously 
ruffled,  when  old  Spangler  brought  to  him  the  exhumed 
head  of  a  deceased  darkey  in  a  gunny-sack,  for  the  in- 
quest mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  The 
gruesome  find,  with  an  aperature  on  the  side  of  the 
head,  so  mortified  the  dignity  of  the  justice  that  he  re- 
signed his  office  and  left  the  country. 

The  subject  of  the  administration  of  justice  on  the 
frontier  would  hardly  be  duly  considered  without  some 
reference  to  lynchings.  But,  in  speaking  of  lynching, 
in  the  early  days  of  Dodge  City,  there  was  not  much  of 
this  kind  of  work  carried  on.  When  certain  party  or 
parties  got  too  obnozious  to  the  decent  part  of  the  com- 
munity, they  would  be  notified  to  leave  town,  and,  if  they 
did  not  go,  the  vigilants  or  respectable  citizens  would 
raise  up  in  their  might  and  shoot  them  to  death.    There 

were  only  two  lynchings  or  hangings.    One  occurred  in 

—184— 


the  west  part  of  town,  for  horse  stealing.  One  night, 
long  after  sundown,  a  small  party  of  men  rode  into  town, 
stopped  at  the  store,  bought  a  piece  of  rope,  and  quietly 
mounted  and  rode  away.  The  next  day,  report  reached 
Dodge  that  three  men  were  hanging  to  a  big  cottonwood 
tree — a  large  lone  tree,  in  the  center  of  a  nice  little  bot- 
tom near  the  crossing  of  Saw  Log  Creek,  about  twelve 
miles  northeast  of  Dodge. 

One  of  the  three  was  a  young  man,  about  twenty-one, 
Calahan  by  name,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  right 
way.  His  father  was  a  good  Christian  gentleman,  and  a 
minister  of  the  gospel,  and  it  nearly  broke  his  heart,  as 
well  as  the  mother's.  His  uncle.  Dr.  Calahan,  was  the 
leading  dentist  of  Topeka,  and  stood  at  the  head  of  his 
profession  throughout  the  state.  Of  course,  they  took  his 
remains  to  Topeka  for  decent  burial.  The  young  man 
had  no  idea  what  he  was  getting  into  when  he  came  to 
Dodge  a  stranger,  looking  for  work,  and  hired  out  to  herd 
horses  for  a  noted  horse  thief,  Owens  by  name,  residing 
in  Dodge.  But  Calahan  gradually  drifted  in  with  them, 
and,  I  suppose,  found  the  employment  so  fascinating  and 
exciting  that  he  became  one  of  them.  But  this  broke  up 
the  Owens  gang  here,  and  Owens  emigrated  north,  where 
his  business  was  more  flourishing,  and  soon  after,  his  son 
was  hung  for  the  same  crime. 


—185- 


Chapter  X. 

The  Passing  of  the  Buffalo 

From  the  nature  and  habits  of  the  buffalo  hunters  as 
already  described,  and  from  the  fact  of  his  having  figured 
so  extensively  in  all  these  stories  of  frontier  life,  it  w^ill 
readily  be  seen  that  the  buffalo  hunter  was  closely  identi- 
fied w^ith  every  phase  of  existence,  of  that  period  and 
locality.  Indeed,  for  many  years,  the  great  herds  of 
buffalo  v^as  the  pivot  around  which  swung  the  greater 
part  of  the  thrilling  activities  of  the  plains  in  early  days. 
When  the  railroad  appeared  the  shipping  of  buffalo  hides 
and  meat  had  much  to  do  with  the  immense  trade  that 
immediately  sprang  up  in  frontier  towns  like  Dodge  City. 
With  the  removal  of  the  buffaloes  from  the  range,  room 
was  made  for  the  cattleman  who  immediately  followed 
with  his  wide-stretching  and  important  industry.  And, 
again,  the  passing  of  the  buffalo  herds,  at  the  hands  of 
the  white  men,  was  one  of  the  prime  causes  of  Indian 
hostility,  and  the  keynote  of  their  principal  grievance 
against  the  whites,  and  its  resulting  atrocities  and  blood- 
shed. 

In  a  former  chapter,  I  endeavored  to  give  an  idea  of 
the  size  of  the  buffalo  herds  of  early  days.  I  here  give 
a  clipping  from  the  Dodge  City  Times,  of  August  i8th, 
1877,  in  support  of  my  estimate  of  the  great  number  of 
buffaloes  on  the  plains  at  that  time: 

TERRIBLE  SLAUGHTER  OF  BUFFALO 

"Dickinson  County  has  a  buffalo  hunter  by  the  name 
of  Mr.  Warnock,  who  has  killed  as  high  as  658  in  one 
winter. — Edwards  County  Leader. 

"O,  dear,  what  a  mighty  hunter!  Ford  County  has 
twenty  men  who  each  have  killed  five  times  that  many  in 
one  winter.    The  best  on  record,  however,  is  that  of  Tom 

—186— 


Nickson,  who  killed  120  at  one  stand  in  forty  minutes, 
and  who,  from  the  15th  of  September  to  the  20th  of  Octo- 
ber, killed  2,173  buffaloes.  Come  on  with  some  more  big 
hunters  if  you  have  any." 

This  slaughter,  of  course  was  resented  by  the  Indians 
and  the  conflicts  between  them  and  the  hunters  were 
fierce  and  frequent.  In  fact,  the  hunters  were  among  the 
most  intrepid  and  determined  of  Indian  fighters,  and 
were  known  as  such.  In  John  R.  Cook's  remarkable  book, 
"The  Border  and  the  Buffalo,"  remarkable  not  only  for 
its  wonderful  stories  of  Indian  fights  and  terrible  suffer- 
ing from  thirst,  but  remarkable  also  for  its  honest  truth- 
fulness, he  says:  "That  noble  band  of  buffalo  hunters 
who  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  and  fought  Kiowas, 
Comanches,  and  Staked  Plains  Apaches,  during  the  sum- 
mer of  1877,  on  the  Llano  Estacado,  or  the  Staked  Plains 
of  Texas." 

This  refers  to  a  body  of  men,  largely  from  Dodge 
City,  and  Charles  Rath  and  myself  among  the  latter,  who 
previously  located  in  that  country.  On  our  arrival,  we 
camped  on  a  surface  lake  whose  waters  were  from  a 
June  waterspout  or  cloud-burst,  and  now  covered  a 
surface  of  about  five  acres  of  ground.  Lieutenant  Coop- 
er's measurement.  In  the  center  of  the  basin  it  showed 
a  depth  of  thirty-three  inches.  Here  we  witnessed  a 
remarkable  sight.  At  one  time,  during  the  day,  could 
be  seen  horses,  mules,  buffaloes,  antelope,  coyotes,  wolves, 
a  sand  hill  crane,  negro  soldiers,  white  men,  our  part 
Cherokee  Indian  guide,  and  the  Mexican  guide,  all  drink- 
ing and  bathing,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  from  this  lake. 
Nearly  all  these  men  were  from  Dodge  City;  that  is  why 
I  mention  them,  and  you  will  hear  of  their  heroic  deeds 
of  bravery  and  suffering  further  along. 

Outside  of  a  tented  circus,  that  mentioned  was  one 
of  the  greatest  aggregations  of  the  animal  kingdom,  on 
so  small  a  space  of  land  and  water.  One  can  imagine 
what  kind  of  water  this  must  have  been  when  taking  into 

—187— 


account  that  nearly  a  month  previous  it  had  suddenly 
fallen  from  the  clouds,  upon  a  dry,  sun  parched  soil  with 
a  hard-pan  bottom,  being  exposed  to  a  broiling  hot  sun 
about  sixteen  hours  of  every  tw^enty-four,  v^hile  the  ther- 
mometer v^as  far  above  one  hundred  degrees  Fahrenheit, 
and  an  occasional  herd  of  buffaloes  standing  or  w^lWow- 
ing  in  it,  not  to  mention  the  ever  coming  and  going 
antelope,  w^ild  horse,  v^olves,  the  snipe,  curlew,  cranes 
and  other  wild  fowl  and  animals,  all  of  which  frequented 
this  place  for  many  miles  around.  And  yet,  we  mixed 
bread,  made  coffee,  and  filled  our  canteens  as  well  as  our 
bellies  with  it.  And  yet  again,  there  were  men  in  our 
party  who,  in  six  more  days  would,  like  Esau,  have  sold 
their  birthright  for  the  privilege  of  drinking  and  bathing 
in  this  same  decoction.  This  was  on  the  Staked  Plains — 
Llano  Estacado. 

The  spring  of  1877,  the  Indians  had  got  very  bold. 
They  raided  the  Texas  frontier  for  hundreds  of  miles, 
not  only  stealing  their  stock  but  burning  the  settlers' 
homes  and  killing  the  women  and  children,  or  carrying 
them  into  captivity  which  was  worse  than  death.  Cap- 
tain Lee,  of  the  Tenth  cavalry,  a  gallant,  brave  officer 
and  Indian  fighter,  had  rendered  a  splendid  service  by 
breaking  up  and  literally  destroying  a  band  of  Staked 
Plains  Indians,  bringing  into  Fort  Griffin  all  the  women 
and  children  and  a  number  of  curiosities.  As  these  In- 
dians got  all  their  supplies  through  half-breed  Mexicans, 
strange  to  say,  all  these  supplies  came  from  way  down  on 
the  Gulf  of  California,  hundreds  of  miles  overland.  And 
I  will  interpolate  here,  that  these  Indian  women  and 
children  never  saw  a  white  man  before  they  were  cap- 
tured. 

Captain  Lee,  at  one  time,  commanded  Fort  Dodge, 
and  was  stationed  there  a  long  time.  While  he  was  a 
brave  and  daring  officer  and  did  great  service,  it  resulted 
in  stirring  up  these  Indians,  making  them  more  revenge- 
ful, villainous,  and  bloodthirsty  than  ever.    They  now 

—188— 


began  to  depredate  on  the  hunters,  kiUing  several  of  the 
best  and  most  influential  of  them,  and  running  off  their 
stock.  This  the  hunters  could  not  stand,  so  they  got 
together  at  Charles  Rath's  store  (a  place  they  named 
"Rath,"  and,  as  I  said  before,  most  of  these  hunters  had 
followed  Rath  down  from  Dodge  City),  and  organized. 
There  were  not  more  than  fifty  of  them,  but  my,  what 
men!  Each  was  a  host  within  himself .  They  feared  noth- 
ing and  would  go  anywhere,  against  anything  wearing  a 
breech-clout,  no  matter  how  great  the  number.  I  do 
not  give  the  names  of  these  brave  men  because  I  remem- 
ber but  a  few  of  their  names  and,  therefore,  mention  them 
collectively. 

This  little  band  of  brave  men  were  treated  liberally 
by  the  stock  men,  those  who  had  lost  horses  by  the  Indian 
raids.  They  were  given  mounts,  and  these  stock  men  also 
gave  the  hunters  bills  of  sale  to  any  horses  of  their  brand 
they  might  capture.  They  knew  to  encourage  these  men 
and  lend  them  assistance  was  protecting  their  frontier. 

The  hunters  chose  Mr.  Jim  Harvey,  I  think,  for  their 
captain,  and  they  chose  wisely  and  well.  They  organized 
thoroughly  and  then  started  for  the  Indians.  They  had 
a  few  skirmishes  and  lost  a  few  men,  and  also  went 
through  great  hardships  on  account  of  hunger,  thirst, 
cold  and  exposure,  but  they  kept  steadily  on  the  trail. 
You  see,  these  hardy  men  had  all  the  endurance  of  the 
Indian,  could  stand  as  much  punishment  in  the  way  of 
hunger,  thirst,  and  cold,  were  good  riders,  good  shots, 
and  superior  in  every  way  to  the  Indians. 

Finally,  they  discovered  about  where  the  main  camp 
of  the  Indians  was,  about  the  middle  of  March,  1877.  The 
trail  got  warm,  and  they  knew  they  were  in  close  prox- 
imity to  the  main  camp  at  some  water  holes  on  the  Staked 
Plains.  This  country  was  new  to  the  hunters  and  they 
knew  they  were  up  against  a  big  band  of  Indians.  Never- 
theless, they  were  determined  to  fight  them,  no  matter  at 

what  odds. 

—189— 


In  the  afternoon  they  discovered  an  Indian  scout. 
Of  course,  they  had  to  kill  him;  if  he  escaped  he  would 
warn  the  camp.  Now  then,  after  this  happened,  the 
hunters  were  obliged  to  use  due  diligence  in  attacking 
the  camp  because  when  the  Indian  scout  did  not  turn  up 
in  a  certain  time,  the  Indians'  suspicions  would  be  arous- 
ed. The  hunters  expected  to  discover  the  camp  and  attack 
just  before  day,  but  they  had  difficulty  in  finding  the 
camp  in  the  night.  Long  after  midnight,  however,  the 
hunters'  scouts  got  on  to  it,  but  by  the  time  the  scouts  got 
back  to  the  boys  and  reported,  nothwithstanding  they 
made  great  haste,  it  was  after  sunrise  before  the  hunters 
got  to  it.  This  frustrated  all  their  plans,  but  the  hunters 
attacked  them  gallantly  and  rode  into  sure  range  and 
opened  fire.  Unfortunately,  nearly  the  first  volley  from 
the  Indians  one  of  the  hunters  was  shot  from  his  horse 
and  another  had  his  horse  killed  under  him  and  in  falling 
broke  his  wrist,  while  their  main  guide,  Hosea,  was  shot 
through  the  shoulder.  Thus  handicapped  with  three  badly 
wounded  men  from  their  little  band,  one  having  to  be 
carried  back  on  a  stretcher  which  required  three  or  four 
men,  all  under  a  murderous  fire,  no  wonder  they  had  to 
retreat  back  to  the  hills,  but  fighting  every  step  of  the 
way.  And,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  Indians  afterwards 
acknowledged  to  Captain  Lee,  that  they  lost  over  thirty 
men  killed  outright,  and  a  much  larger  number  wound- 
ed, and  they  abandoned  everything  to  get  away  with  their 
women  and  children.  They  abandoned,  on  their  trail, 
several  hundred  head  of  horses. 

Now  these  forty  hunters  were  fighting  three  hundred 
warriors.  It  was  a  most  wonderful  fight  and  broke  the 
backbone  of  the  Indian  depredations.  There  were  only 
a  few  raids  made  after  this,  and  I  quote  from  Cook  who 
says: 

"There  was  a  bill  up  in  the  Texas  legislature,  to  pro- 
tect the  buffalo  from  the  hunters,  when  General  Sheridan 
went  before  that  body  and  said:  'Instead  of  stopping 

—190— 


the  hunters,  you  ought  to  give  them  a  hearty,  unanimous 
vote  of  thanks,  and  give  each  hunter  a  medal  of  bronze 
with  a  dead  buffalo  on  one  side  and  discouraged  Indian 
on  the  other.  These  men  ^  have  done  more  in  the  last 
two  years,  and  will  do  more  in  the  next  year  to  settle 
the  vexed  Indian  question,  than  the  regular  army  has 
done  in  the  last  thirty.  They  are  destroying  the  Indians' 
commissary,  and  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  an  army, 
losing  its  base  of  supplies,  is  placed  at  a  great  disad- 
vantage. Send  them  powder  and  lead,  if  you  will,  but, 
for  the  sake  of  peace,  let  them  kill,  skin,  and  sell  until 
the  buffalo  are  exterminated.  Then  your  prairies  can 
be  covered  with  cattle  and  the  cowboy,  who  follows  the 
hunter  as  a  second  forerunner  of  an  advanced  civiliza- 


tion.' " 


How  literally  true  his  prediction  has  become ! 

Naturally,  the  affairs  and  movements  of  the  hunters 
was  the  foundation  for  much  of  the  news  of  the  day,  at 
this  period.  The  following  is  a  common  newspaper  item 
in  1878: 

"Messrs.  T.  B.  Van  Voorhis,  J.  A.  Minor,  H.  L. 

Thompson,  Ira  Pettys,  George  W.  Taylor,  Frank  Van 

Voorhis,  Frank  Harder,  and  D.  C.  Macks,  all  residents 

of  the  eastern  portion  of  Ford  County,  arrived  in  the 

city  last  Tuesday  after  an  absence  of  seven  weeks  on  a 

hunting  expedition  through  the  southern  country.  While 

hunting  on  the  Salt  Fork  of  Red  River  the  party  found 

a  span  of  mules  that  had  been  stollen  from  Van  Voorhis 

last  July.  They  were  in  possession  of  Milton  Burr  who 

had  purchased  them  of  Chummy  Jones  who  is  now  in 

hell,  if  there  is  such  a  place.  Mr.  Burr,  upon  hearing  the 

evidence  of  the  claimant  promptly  turned  the  mules  over 

to  the  owner  who  brought  them  home  with  him.    One  of 

the  party  informed  us  that  he  saw  a  couple  of  animals 

that  were  stolen  from  Mr.  Hathaway  but  when  he  went 

to  identify  them  they  could  not  be  found. 

"Some  of  the  party  called  at  Mr.  Dubb's  camp  and 
—191— 


found  him  and  Mr.  Stealy  doing  well.  They  were  camped 
on  Oakes  Creek,  eight  miles  this  side  of  Red  River  and 
had  killed  about  1,500  buffaloes.  They  have  a  nice  lot 
of  meat  and  hides.  Mr.  Dubbs  asked  the  party  to  remem- 
ber him  to  his  friends  in  Dodge  City." 

Another  newspaper  item  very  much  to  the  point, 
since  it  gives  an  excellent  description  of  the  mode  of 
killing  and  preparing  the  buffalo  for  market,  is  entitled, 
"Slaughtering  the  Buffalo,"  and  is  from  a  "Shackelford 
County  (Texas)  Letter  to  the  Galveston  News."  It  fol- 
lows verbatim: 

"The  town  of  Griffin  is  supported  by  buffalo  hunters 
and  is  their  general  rendezvous  in  this  section.  The 
number  of  hunters  of  the  ranges  this  season  is  estimated 
at  1,500.  We  saw  at  Griffin  a  plat  of  ground  of  about 
four  acres  covered  with  buffalo  hides  spread  out  to  dry, 
besides  a  large  quantity  piled  up  for  shipment.  These 
hides  are  worth  in  this  place  from  $1.00  to  $1.60  each. 
The  generally  accepted  idea  of  the  exciting  chase  in  buf- 
falo hunting  is  not  the  plan  pursued  by  the  men  who 
make  it  a  regular  business.  They  use  the  needle  gun  with 
telescope,  buy  powder  by  the  keg,  their  lead  in  bulks 
and  the  shells  and  make  their  own  cartridges.  The  guns 
in  a  party  of  hunters  are  used  by  only  one  or  two  men, 
who  say  they  usually  kill  a  drove  of  thirty  or  forty  buf- 
faloes on  one  or  two  acres  of  ground.  As  soon  as  one  is 
killed  the  whole  herd,  smelling  the  blood,  collect  around 
the  dead  body,  snuffing  and  pawing  up  the  ground  and 
uttering  a  singular  noise.  The  hunter  continues  to  shoot 
them  down  as  long  as  he  can  remain  concealed  or  until 
the  last  animal  'bites  the  dust.'  The  buffalo  pays  no  at- 
tention to  the  report  of  the  gun,  and  flees  only  at  the  sight 
or  scent  of  his  enemy.  The  others  of  the  party  then  oc- 
cupy themselves  in  'peeling.'  Some  of  these  have  become 
so  skillful  they  offer  to  bet  they  can  skin  a  five-  or  six- 
year-old  bull  in  five  minutes.  The  meat  is  also  saved 
and  sent  to  market  and  commands  a  good  price." 

—192— 


"Bat"  Masterson 


We  mention  this  special  article  because  these  hunters 
were  all  from  Dodge  City,  formerly,  and  they  drifted 
south  along  with  the  buffalo. 

The  Llano  Estacado,  or  Staked  Plains,  in  Texas,  which 
has  been  mentioned  as  the  scene  of  a  particularly  fierce 
battle  between  Dodge  City  hunters  and  Indians,  was  a 
great  range  for  buffalo;  and  perhaps  a  description  of  it, 
at  that  time,  would  be  in  order.  A  writer  in  a  Texas  paper, 
in  1 88 1,  treats  the  subject  in  an  interesting  way: 

"There  is  something  romantic  about  these  canyons 
and  surrounding  plains,  familiarly  known  as  the  *Llano 
Estacado.'  One  would  imagine  a  boundless  stretch  of 
prairie,  limited,  in  all  directions,  by  the  horizon,  a  mo- 
notonous, dreary  waste,  the  Great  American  Desert,  offer- 
ing but  little  to  invite  settlement  or  attract  interest.  My 
observation,  from  two  months'  surveying  and  prospect- 
ing in  this  'terra  incognita,'  has  convinced  me  of  the 
error  of  any  previous  opinions  I  may  have  formed  of  this 
section  of  the  state.  The  canyons,  hemmed  in  by  the 
plains,  the  latter  rising  some  two  hundred  feet  above 
the  bed  of  the  streams  in  the  former,  are  as  fair  and 
picturesque  as  the  famous  Valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  or 
the  most  favored  sections,  in  this  respect,  in  California, 
affording  perennial  springs  of  pure,  sweet,  and  mineral 
waters,  gypsum,  salt,  iron,  lime,  and  sulphur;  also,  nutri- 
tious grasses,  green  all  winter,  capable  of  sustaining  suf- 
ficient cattle  to  supply  a  nation. 

"The  breaks  of  the  plains,  corresponding  to  second 
valley  prairie,  incrusted  with  pure  white  gypsum  and 
mica,  assuming  many  dazzling  shapes,  remind  one  of  the 
battlements  of  an  old  fort  or  castle,  or  the  profile  of  a 
large  city  with  its  cathedral  walls  and  varied  habitations 
of  the  humble  and  princely  of  a  huge  metropolis.  Romance 
lingers  on  the  summit  of  these  horizontal,  fancifully 
shaped  bluffs  of  the  Llano  Estacado,  so  called,  and  the 
dreamer  or  romancer  would  never  exhaust  his  genius  in 
painting  vivid  pictures  of  the  imagination. 

—193— 


"This  portion  of  the  state,  having  little  protection 
from  the  incursions  of  the  Indians,  has  not  yet  been  a 
favorite  field  for  settlement,  and  only  vi^ithin  the  past 
three  or  four  years  a  icw  hardy,  fearless  stockmen  have 
brought  out  their  flocks,  from  the  overcrov^ded  ranges 
of  the  interior,  to  enjoy  the  rich  pasturage  afforded  here. 
These  pioneers,  for  such  they  are  and  deserve  to  be  re- 
garded as  stockmen,  are  traduced  and  misrepresented, 
and  live  in  the  most  primitive  style  imaginable.  A  cave 
in  the  grounds,  in  many  instances,  covered  only  v^ith  poles 
and  earth,  affords  them  shelter  from  the  snow^  and  blood- 
freezing  northers,  w^hich  come  often  v^ith  the  force  and 
intensity  of  a  sirocco,  from  the  timberless  plains. 

"Agriculture  has  not  been  tried  here,  but  the  soil  in 
this  and  many  of  the  surrounding  counties,  a  red  choco- 
late loam,  in  some  instances  a  mold,  must  yield  abund- 
antly to  the  efforts  of  the  husbandman.  The  immense 
amount  of  snow^  (v^^e  have  it  on  the  ground  now^  five 
inches  deep),  falling  during  the  fall  months,  it  seems 
would  prepare  the  soil  for  early  spring  crops  of  cereals; 
and  the  volunteer  plum  thickets  and  currants  indicate 
that  many  of  the  fruits  v^ould  do  v/e\\  here.  The  rain- 
fall, so  I  am  informed  by  the  settlers,  has  averaged  well 
for  many  years  past,  even  upon  the  plains;  and,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  arid  sand  wastes  and  salt  deposits, 
it  is  fair  to  predict  that,  in  time,  the  Great  American 
Desert  will  have  followed  the  red  man,  or  proved  as 
veritable  a  myth  as  the  Wandering  Jew. 

"The  tall  sedge  grass  upon  the  plains  has  been  burn- 
ing for  a  week  or  more  past,  only  ceasing  with  the  recent 
snowfalls,  and  the  canyons  are  lit  up  as  by  the  intensity 
of  a  Syrian  sun  or  electric  light.  These  annual  burnings 
are  really  an  advantage,  fertilizing  and  adding  strength 
to  the  spring  grasses." 

Notwithstanding  the  possibilities  of  the  Llano  Esta- 
cado  and  other  sections  of  the  great  plains,  one  can 
imagine  what  the  lives  of  the  buffalo  hunters  must  have 

—194— 


been  amid  such  wild  and  comfortless  surroundings.  For 
all  that,  many  of  the  hunters  seemed  happy  in  the  life, 
and  occasionally  one  even  waxed;  eloquent,  not  to  say 
poetical,  upon  the  subject.  The  following  lines  bear 
witness  to  this  fact,  being  composed  in  the  very  midst  of 
buffalo  hunting  days,  by  as  unlikely  an  aspirant  to  efforts 
at  poesy  as  one  can  well  imagine.  The  lines  are  not 
classical,  but,  considering  their  author,  they  are  as  won- 
derful production  of  the  pen  as  the  perfect  verses  of 
scholarly  Milton.  Whatever  their  faults  as  literature, 
they  at  least  give  a  concise  and  telling  picture  of  the 
buffalo  hunter's  life. 

THE  BUFFALO  HUNTER 

"Of  all  the  lives  beneath  the  sun, 

The  buffalo  hunter's  is  the  jolliest  one! 

His  wants  are  few,  simple,  and  easily  supplied, 

A  wagon,  team,  gun,  and  a  horse  to  ride. 

He  chases  the  buffalo  o'er  the  plains; 

A  shot  at  smaller  game  he  disdains. 

Bison  hides  are  his  bills  of  exchange. 

And  all  are  his  that  come  within  range; 

From  the  wintry  blast  they  shield  his  form. 

And  afford  him  shelter  during  the  storm. 

A  steak  from  the  hump  is  a  feast  for  a  king; 

Brains,  you  know,  are  good,  and  tongue  a  delicious  thing. 

When  the  day's  hunt  is  over,  and  all  have  had  their 

dinners, 
The  hunter  lights  his  pipe,  to  entertain  the  skinners; 
He  tells  of  the  big  bull  that  bravely  met  his  fate; 
Of  the  splendid  line  shot  that  settled  his  mate; 
Of  the  cow,  shot  too  low,  of  another,  too  high; 
And  of  all  the  shots  that  missed  he  tells  the  reason  why; 
How  the  spike  stood  his  ground,  when  all  but  him  had 

fled. 

And  refused  to  give  it  up  till  he  filled  him  with  lead; 

How  he  trailed  up  the  herd  for  five  miles  or  more, 

—195— 


Leaving,  over  forty  victims  w^eltering  in  their  gore; 

All  about  the  blasted  calves  that  put  the  main  herd  to 

flight, 
And  kept  them  on  the  run  until  they  disappeared  from 

sight. 
When  v^eary  of  incidents  relating  to  the  chase. 
They  discuss  other  topics,  each  one  in  its  place; 
Law^,  politics,  religion,  and  the  w^eather. 
And  the  probable  price  of  the  buffalo  leather. 
A  tender-footed  hunter  is  a  great  greenhorn. 
And  the  poor  old  granger  an  object  of  scorn; 
But  the  w^orst  deal  of  all  is  reserved  for  hide  buyers, 
Who  are  swindlers  and  robbers  and  professional  liars. 
The  hunter  thinks,  sometimes  in  the  future,  of  a  change  in 

his  life. 
And  indulges  in  dreams  of  a  home  and  a  v^^ife, 
Who  w^ill  sit  by  his  side  and  listen  to  his  story  of  the  boys 

and  the  past. 
And  echo  his  hopes  of  reunion  in  the  happy  hunting 

grounds  at  last." 

My  old  friend  and  former  partner,  Charles  Rath, 
was  a  great  buffalo  hunter  and  freighter.  No  one  handled 
as  many  hides  and  robes  as  he,  and  few  men  killed  more 
buffaloes.  He  was  honest,  true,  and  brave.  He  bought 
and  sold  more  than  a  million  of  buffalo  hides,  and  tens 
of  thousands  of  buffalo  robes,  and  hundreds  of  cars  of 
buffalo  meat,  both  dried  and  fresh,  besides  several  car- 
loads of  buffalo  tongues.  He  could  speak  the  Cheyenne 
and  Arapahoe  languages,  and  was  one  of  the  best  sign 
men.  He  lived  right  among  the  Indians  for  many  years 
and  acquired  their  habits;  but  he  never  gained  great 
confidence  in  them,  and  no  man  used  greater  precaution 
to  guard  against  their  attacks. 

Nearly  all  of  the  buffalo  hunters,  bull-whackers,  cow- 
boys, and  bad  men  had  a  popular  nickname  or  peculiar 
title  of  some  kind  bestowed  upon  them,  supposed  to  be 
more  or  less  descriptive  of  some  peculiarity  in  their  make- 

—-196— 


up,  and  which  was  often  in  such  common  use  as  to  al- 
most obscure  the  fact  that  the  individual  possessed  any 
other  or  more  conventional  name.  Prairie  Dog  Dave, 
Blue  Pete,  Mysterious  Dave,  and  others  are  mentioned 
elsewhere  in  these  pages.  In  addition,  might  be  named, 
many  others,  some  very  significant  and  appropriate;  such 
as.  Dirty  Face  Charley,  The  Off  Wheeler,  The  Near 
Wheeler,  Eat  'Em  Up  Jake,  Shoot  'Em  Up  Mike,  Stink 
Finger  Jim,  The  Hoo-Doo  Kid,  Frosty,  The  Whitey  Kid, 
Light  Fingered  Jack,  The  Stuttering  Kid,  Dog  Kelley, 
Black  Kelley,  Shot  Gun  Collins,  Bull  Whack  Joe,  Bar 
Keep  Joe,  Conch  Jones,  Black  Warrior,  Hurricane  Bill, 
and  Shoot  His  Eye  Out  Jack.  Women  were  also  often 
nicknamed,  those  of  unsavory  character  generally  taking  a 
title  of  the  same  sort;  and  the  married  sharing  the  honors 
of  their  husbands  title,  as  Hurricane  Bill  and  Hurricane 
Minnie;  Rowdy  Joe  and  Rowdy  Kate. 

Prairie  Dog  Dave  is  distinguished  as  being  the  hunter 
who  killed  the  famous  white  buffalo,  which  he  sold  to 
the  writer  for  one  thousand  dollars,  in  the  early  days 
of  Dodge  City.  So  far  as  early  settlers  know,  only  one 
white  buffalo  has  been  known.  Of  the  thousands  upon 
thousands  shot  by  the  plainsmen,  in  buffalo  hunting  days, 
none  were  ever  white.  Naturally,  Dave's  specimen,  which 
I  had  mounted  and  shipped  to  Kansas  City,  forty  years 
ago,  attracted  wide  attention,  not  only  in  Kansas  City, 
but  throughout  the  West.  It  was  exhibited  at  fairs  and 
expositions,  and  Indians  and  plainsmen  traveled  for  miles 
to  get  a  look  at  it.  The  specimen  was  loaned  to  the  State 
of  Kansas,  and,  until  nine  years  ago,  was  on  exhibition 
in  the  state  capitol  at  Topeka. 

I  would  feel  that  these  sketches  were  incomplete 
did  I  not  give  at  least  a  brief  account  of  the  "battle  of 
the  adobe  wall,"  in  which  the  handful  of  brave  men  who 
fought  so  valiantly  against  the  Indians  were  all  Kansans. 

Long  years  ago,  before  General  Sam  Houston  led  the 
Texans  on  to  victory,  before  their  independence  was 

—197— 


achieved,  while  the  immense  territory  southwest  of  the 
Louisiana  purchase  was  still  the  property  of  Mexico,  a 
party  of  traders  from  Santa  Fe  wandered  up  into  north- 
western Texas  and  constructed  a  rude  fort.  Its  walls, 
like  those  of  many  Mexican  dwellings  of  the  present  day, 
were  formed  of  a  peculiar  clay,  hard  baked  by  the  sun. 
At  that  time  the  Indians  of  the  plains  were  numerous  and 
warlike,  and  white  men  who  ventured  far  into  their 
country  found  it  necessary  to  be  prepared  to  defend  them- 
selves in  case  of  attacks.  Doubtless  the  fortress  served 
the  purpose  of  its  builders  long  and  well.  If  the  old 
adobe  wall  had  been  endowed  with  speech,  what  stories 
might  it  not  have  told  of  desperate  warfare,  of  savage 
treachery,  and  the  noble  deeds  of  brave  men.  However, 
in  the  '70's,  all  that  remained  to  even  suggest  these  miss- 
ing leaves  of  the  early  history  of  the  plains  were  the  out- 
lines of  the  earthen  fortifications. 

In  1874  a  number  of  buffalo  hunters  from  Dodge 
City  took  up  headquarters  at  the  ruins.  The  place  was 
selected,  not  only  because  of  its  location  in  the  very 
center  of  the  buffalo  country,  but  also  because  of  its 
numerous  other  advantages,  and  the  proximity  of  a  stream 
of  crystal,  clear  water  which  flowed  into  the  Canadian 
River  a  short  distance  below.  After  becoming  settled  at 
the  trading  post,  and  erecting  two  large  houses  of  sod, 
which  were  used  as  store  buildings,  the  men  turned  their 
attention  to  building  a  stockade,  which  was  never  com- 
pleted. As  spring  advanced  and  the  weather  became 
warm,  the  work  lagged  and  the  hunters  became  careless, 
frequently  leaving  the  doors  open  at  night  to  admit  the 
free  passage  of  air,  and  sleeping  out-of-doors  and  late  in 
the  morning,  until  the  sun  was  high. 

Among  the  Indians  of  the  plains  was  a  medicine 
man,  shrewd  and  watchful,  who  still  cherished  the  hope 
that  his  people  might  eventually  be  able  to  overcome  the 
white  race  and  check  the  progress  of  civilization.  After 
brooding  over  the  matter  for  some  time,  he  evolved  a 

—198— 


scheme,  in  which  not  only  his  own  nation,  but  the 
Arapahoes,  Comanches,  and  Apaches  were  interested.  A 
federation  was  formed,  and  the  Indians  proceeded  against 
the  settlements  of  northwestern  Texas  and  southwestern 
Kansas.  Minimic,  the  medicine  man,  having  observed 
that  the  old  Mexican  fort  was  again  inhabited,  and  being 
fully  informed  with  regard  to  the  habits  of  the  white  men, 
led  the  warriors  to  attack  the  buffalo  stations,  promising 
them  certain  victory,  without  a  battle.  He  had  prepared 
his  medicine  carefully,  and  in  consequence  the  doors  of 
the  houses  would  be  open  and  the  braves  would  enter  in 
the  early  morning,  while  their  victims  were  asleep,  under 
the  influence  of  his  wonderful  charm.  They  would  kill 
and  scalp  every  occupant  of  the  place  without  danger  to 
themselves,  for  his  medicine  was  strong,  and  their  war 
paint  would  render  them  invisible. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fight,  some  of  the  hunters  who 
were  going  out  that  day  were  compelled  to  rise  early.  A 
man  starting  to  the  stream  for  water  suddenly  discovered 
the  presence  of  Indians.  He  ran  back  and  aroused  his 
comrades;  then  rushed  outside  to  awaken  two  men  who 
were  sleeping  in  wagons.  Before  this  could  be  accom- 
plished, the  savages  were  swarming  around  them.  The 
three  men  met  a  horrible  death  at  the  hands  of  the  yelling 
and  capering  demons,  who  now  surrounded  the  sod  build- 
ings. The  roofs  were  covered  with  dirt,  making  it  im- 
possible to  set  fire  to  them,  and  there  were  great  double 
doors  with  heavy  bars.  There  were  loopholes  in  the  build- 
ing, through  which  those  within  could  shoot  at  the  en- 
emy. 

The  Indians,  sure  of  triumph,  were  unusually  daring, 

and  again  and  again  they  dashed  up  to  the  entrances, 

three  abreast,  then  suddenly  wheeling  their  horses,  backed 

against  the  doors  with  all  possible  force.    The  pressure 

was  counteracted  by  barricading  with  sacks  of  flour.  The 

doors  were  pushed  in  by  the  weight  of  the  horses,  until 

there  was  a  small  crevice  through  which  they  would  hurl 

—199— 


their  lances,  shoot  their  arrows,  and  fire  their  guns  as  they 
dashed  by.  Now  they  would  renew  their  attack  more 
vigorously  than  ever,  and  dash  up  to  the  port  holes  by  the 
hundreds,  regardless  of  the  hunters'  deadly  aim.  Saddle 
after  saddle  would  be  empty  after  each  charge,  and  the 
loose  horses  rushed  madly  around,  adding  to  the  deadly 
strife  and  noise  of  battle  going  on.  At  one  time  there  was 
a  lull  in  the  fight;  there  was  a  young  warrior,  more  dar- 
ing and  desperate  than  his  fellows,  mounted  on  a  magi- 
nificent  pony,  decorated  with  a  gaudy  war  bonnet,  and 
his  other  apparel  equally  as  brilliant,  who  wanted, 
perhaps,  to  gain  distinction  for  his  bravery  and  be- 
come a  great  chief  of  his  tribe,  made  a  bold  dash 
from  among  his  comrades  toward  the  buildings.  He 
rode  with  the  speed  of  an  eagle,  and  as  straight  as  an 
arrow,  for  the  side  of  the  building  where  the  port  holes 
were  most  numerous  and  danger  greatest,  succeeded  in 
reaching  them,  and,  leaping  from  his  horse,  pushed  his 
six-shooter  through  a  port  hole  and  emptied  it,  filling 
the  room  with  smoke.  He  then  attempted  a  retreat,  but 
in  a  moment  he  was  shot  down;  he  staggered  to  his  feet, 
but  was  again  shot  down,  and,  whilst  lying  on  the  ground, 
he  deliberately  drew  another  pistol  from  his  belt  and 
blew  out  his  brains. 

There  were  only  fourteen  guns  all  told  with  the 
hunters,  and  certainly  there  were  over  five  hundred  In- 
dians, by  their  own  admission  afterwards.  The  ground 
around,  after  the  fight,  was  strewn  with  dead  horses  and 
Indians.  Twenty-seven  of  the  latter  lay  dead,  besides  a 
number  of  them  had  been  carried  off  by  their  comrades. 
How  many  wounded  there  were  we  never  knew,  and  they 
(the  Indians)  would  never  tell,  perhaps,  because  they 
were  so  chagrined  at  their  terrible  defeat.  After  the 
ammunition  had  been  exhausted,  some  of  the  men  melted 
lead  and  molded  bullets,  while  the  remainder  kept  up  the 
firing,  which  continued  throughout  the  entire  day. 
Minimic  rode  from  place  to  place  with  an  air  of  bragga- 

—200— 


docio  encouraging  his  followers  and  making  himself  gen- 
erally conspicuous.  A  sharpshooter  aimed  at  him,  in  the 
distance,  possibly  a  mile,  and  succeeded  in  killing  the 
gaily  painted  pony  of  the  prophet.  When  the  pony  went 
down,  Minimic  explained  to  his  followers  that  it  was 
because  the  bullet  had  struck  where  there  was  no  painted 
place.  In  the  midst  of  the  excitement,  while  bullets  were 
flying  thick  and  fast,  a  mortally  wounded  savage  fell  al- 
most on  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  stores.  Billy  Tyler, 
moved  with  pity,  attempted  to  open  the  door  in  order  to 
draw  him  inside,  but  was  instantly  killed.  The  struggle 
lasted  until  dark,  when  the  Indians,  defeated  by  fourteen 
brave  men,  fell  back,  with  many  dead  and  wounded.  The 
hunters  had  lost  four  of  their  number,  but  within  a  few 
days  two  hundred  men  collected  within  the  fortifications, 
and  the  allies  did  not  venture  to  renew  the  conflict.  Old 
settlers  agree  that  the  "battle  of  adobe  wall"  was  one  of 
the  fiercest  fought  on  the  plains. 

Such  is  a  brief  account,  founded  on  the  author's  per- 
sonal knowledge,  of  the  "adobe  wall  fight,"  in  the  Pan- 
handle of  Texas,  just  due  south  of  Dodge,  all  who  were 
engaged  in  it  being  formerly  citizens  of  Dodge.  In  addi- 
tion I  herewith  give  the  story  of  one  of  the  participants: 

"Just  before  sunrise  on  the  morning  of  June  27th, 
1874,  we  were  attacked  by  some  five  hundred  Indians. 
The  walls  were  defended  by  only  fourteen  guns.  There 
were  twenty-one  whites  at  the  walls,  but  the  other  seven 
were  non-combatants  and  had  no  guns.  It  was  a  thrilling 
episode,  more  wonderful  than  any  ever  pictured  in  a  dime 
novel,  and  has  the  advantage  over  the  average  Indian 
story  in  being  true,  as  several  of  the  leading  men  of  Dodge 
City  can  testify,  who  were  present  at  the  fight,  among 
them  being  Mr.  W.  B.  Masterson,  sheriff  of  our  county. 

"About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  fight, 

several  parties  sleeping  in  the  saloon  of  Mr.  James  Haner- 

han  were  awakened  by  the  falling  in  of  part  of  the  roof 

which  had  given  way.    The  men  awakened  by  the  crash 

—201 — 


jumped  up,  thinking  they  had  been  attacked  by  Indians, 
but,  discovering  what  was  the  matter,  proceeded  to  make 
the  necessary  repairs.  It  was  about  daylight  when 
through,  and  Billy  Ogg  went  out  to  get  the  horses  which 
were  picketed  a  short  distance  from  the  house.  He  dis- 
covered the  Indians,  charging  down  from  the  hills,  and 
immediately  gave  the  alarm  and  started  for  the  building. 
The  Indians  charged  down  upon  the  little  garrison  in 
solid  mass,  every  man  having  time  to  get  to  shelter  except 
the  two  Sheidler  brothers  and  a  Mexican  bull-whacker, 
who  were  sleeping  in  their  wagons  a  short  distance 
from  the  walls,  and  who  were  killed  and  their  bodies 
horribly  mutilated.  They  were  just  about  to  start  for 
Dodge  City,  loaded  with  hides  for  Charles  Rath  &  Com- 
pany. 

"The  red  devils  charged  right  down  to  the  doors  and 
port  holes  of  the  stockade,  but  were  met  with  such  a 
galling  fire  they  were  forced  to  retire.  So  close  were  they 
that,  as  the  brave  defenders  of  the  wall  shot  out  of  their 
portholes,  they  planted  the  muzzles  of  their  guns  in  the 
very  faces  and  breasts  of  the  savages,  who  rained  a  per- 
fect storm  of  bullets  down  upon  them.  For  two  terrible 
hours  did  the  Indians,  who  displayed  a  bravery  and  reck- 
lessness never  before  surpassed  and  seldom  equalled,  make 
successive  charges  upon  the  walls,  each  time  being  driven 
back  by  the  grim  and  determined  men  behind,  who  fired 
with  a  rapidity  and  decision  which  laid  many  a  brave 
upon  the  ground.  But  two  men  were  killed  in  the  stock- 
ade, Billy  Tyler,  who  was  trying  to  draw  in  a  wounded 
Indian,  mortally  wounded  and  lying  groaning  against  the 
door,  which,  when  Tyler  opened  it,  he  was  shot.  The 
Indian  who  gave  Tyler  his  death  wound  was  scarcely 
fifteen  feet  from  him  at  the  time.  A  man,  by  the  name  of 
Olds,  was  coming  down  the  ladder  from  the  lookout  post, 
with  his  gun  carelessly  in  front  of  him,  and  the  hammer 
caught  on  something,  the  ball  entering  his  chin  and  com- 
ing out  the  top  of  his  head. 

—202— 


"After  two  hours'  hard  fighting,  the  Indians  with- 
drew to  the  hills  but  kept  up  a  bombardment  on  the  stock- 
ade for  some  time  afterwards.  In  the  afternoon,  while 
the  bullets  were  coming  down  on  them  like  hailstones, 
Masterson,  Bermuda,  and  Andy  Johnson  came  out  and 
found  ten  Indians  and  a  negro  dead;  but  when  the  sav- 
ages were  driven  in  by  General  Miles,  they  acknowledged 
to  seventy  being  killed,  and  God  knows  how  many  were 
wounded. 

"The  Comanches,  in  the  adobe  wall  fight,  were  led 
by  Big  Bow;  the  Kiowas  by  Lone  Wolf;  and  the  Chey- 
ennes  by  Minimic,  Red  Moon,  and  Gray  Beard.  The 
Indians,  shortly  afterwards,  were  completely  subdued  by 
that  indefatigable  Indian  trailer  and  fighter,  the  gallant 
General  Miles.  The  Miles  expedition  started  from  Dodge 
on  the  6th  of  August,  and  on  the  30th  fought  the  redskins 
on  Red  River.  Masterson,  who  participated  in  the  adobe 
wall  fight,  went  out  with  the  expedition  as  a  scout  under 
Lieutenant  Baldwin,  of  the  gallant  old  Fifth  Infantry, 
and  was  with  Baldwin  at  the  time  of  the  capture  of  the 
Germain  children." 

As  an  example  of  fighting  of  a  different  sort,  I  must 
here  relate  the  story  of  a  little  fight  between  the  Indians 
and  hunters.  Charles  Rath  &  Company  loaded  a  small 
mule  train,  belonging  to  the  hunters,  with  ammunition 
and  guns  for  their  hunters'  store  at  adobe  walls.  When 
about  half  way,  on  the  old  Jones  and  Plummer  trail,  they 
were  suddently  rushed  by  a  band  of  Indians  five  times 
their  number.  The  hunters  hastily  ran  their  wagons  into 
corral  shape,  and  turned  loose  on  them.  The  Indians  were 
only  too  glad  to  skedaddle,  leaving  several  dead  horses 
behind.  The  hunters  pulled  into  the  trail  and  went  on, 
without  losing  a  moment's  time.  The  Indians  killed  a 
favorite  buffalo  pony,  which  was  the  only  injury  the 
hunters  sustained,  and  they  saw  no  more  of  Mr.  Redskin. 

While  much  of  the  history  connected  with  the  buf- 
falo is  nothing  but  a  record  of  hardships,  fighting,  and 

—203— 


slaughter  of  various  sorts,  there  is  a  brighter  tinge  to  it, 
now  and  then,  and  sometimes  its  incidents  are  even  laugh- 
able, as  the  story  of  Harris'  ring  performance  v^ith  the 
bull  buffalo,  in  another  chapter,  can  testify.  In  many 
ways,  the  buffalo  was  much  like  domestic  cattle  in  their 
nature.  They  could  be  tamed,  handled,  and  trusted  to 
the  same  extent.  At  one  time,  in  Dodge  City's  early  days, 
Mr.  Reynolds  had  two  very  tame,  two-year-old  buffaloes. 
They  were  so  exceedingly  tame  and  docile  that  they 
came  right  into  the  back  yards,  and  poked  their  noses 
into  the  kitchen  doors,  for  bread  and  other  eatables. 

There  came  a  large  troupe  to  Dodge  City,  to  play 
a  week's  engagement  at  our  nice  little  opera  house,  just 
built.  They  had  a  big  flashy  band  of  about  twenty-four 
pieces,  their  dress  was  very  gaudy,  indeed — like  Jacob's 
coat,  made  up  of  many  colors — and  their  instruments, 
as  well  as  their  uniforms,  were  very  brilliant;  so  much 
so  that  they  attracted  great  attention,  and  I  presume  their 
flashy  appearance  also  attracted  the  attention  of  the  two 
tame  buffaloes,  who  took  exceptions  to  the  noise  and  ap- 
pearance, and  they  took  their  time  and  opportunity  to 
resent  it. 

The  band  leader  was  a  great  tall  man,  and  he  had  a 
big  bear-skin  cap,  a  baton,  and  all  the  shiny  regalia 
they  generally  wear.  Now,  as  this  big  bang  was  strung 
out,  coming  down  Bridge  Street,  playing  for  all  that  was 
out,  those  two  buffaloes  were  listening  in  their  back  yard, 
and  began  to  snort  and  show  other  signs  of  restlessness. 
The  band  leader  stepped  out  of  the  ranks,  shook  his 
baton,  and  flourished  it  right  in  the  buffaloes'  faces.  This 
was  too  much — or  more  than  the  buffaloes  could  stand, 
and  they  made  a  vicious  charge  at  the  fellow.  With  heads 
lowered,  they  made  for  him,  and  of  course  he  ran  right 
into  his  band,  the  buffaloes  following  with  nostrils  dis- 
tended and  blood  in  their  eyes.  The  waterworks  had 
the  street  all  torn  up,  a  big  ditch  full  of  water  in  the 

middle  of  the  street,  and  a  picket  fence  on  each  side. 

—204— 


On  charged  the  buffaloes,  horning  and  plunging  into 
everything  in  sight.  The  big  bass  drum  was  thrown  up 
into  the  air,  and,  as  it  came  down,  the  buffaloes  went  for 
it,  as  well  as  for  the  members  of  the  band,  and  such  a 
scatterment  you  never  saw.  Some  took  the  fence;  some 
took  the  ditch;  all  threw  away  their  instruments;  some 
had  the  seats  of  their  pants  torn  out;  the  drum  major 
lost  his  big  hat;  and  there  were  those  who  took  the  fence, 
roosting  there  on  the  pickets,  holloing  like  good  fellows 
to  be  rescued. 

Now  this  might  have  been  the  last  of  it;  but  that 
night,  when  the  buffalo  charge  had  been  forgotten,  and 
the  band  was  drawn  up  in  the  street,  playing  in  front 
of  the  opera  house  before  the  performance,  some  mis- 
chievous persons  led  the  two  buffaloes  down,  and  turned 
them  loose  in  the  rear  of  that  band,  with  a  big  send  off, 
driving  them  right  into  the  thickets  of  the  band.  This 
was  enough.  They  not  only  threw  away  their  instru- 
ments, but  took  to  their  heels,  shouting  and  holloing, 
almost  paralyzed  with  fear. 


—205— 


Chapter  XI. 

]o\ing  with  Powder  and  Ball 

A  S  has  been  said,  the  well-behaved  stranger,  visiting 
•*^  Dodge  City  in  the  old  days,  v^^as  alv^ays  treated 
courteously  and  never  molested;  on  the  other  hand,  how- 
ever, the  stranger  entering  town  in  quarrelsome,  patroniz- 
ing, critical,  or  any  other  boldly  flaunted  mood,  distaste- 
ful to  the  resident  citizens,  was  quite  likely  to  receive  a 
swift  and  severe  check  to  his  propensities,  by  being  made 
the  butt  of  some  prank,  designed  to  cure  him  forever  of 
his  offensive  quality.  In  like  manner,  if  one  of  the  resi- 
dent citizen  chanced  to  assume  undue  airs  or  otherwise 
conduct  himself  in  a  way  not  strictly  in  accordance  with 
the  popular  idea  of  what  was  comely,  he  was  a  certain 
candidate  for  some  practical  joke  which  would  speedily 
show  him  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  even  punish  him 
for  it.  That  such  pranks  and  jokes  were  neither  gentle 
nor  considerate  of  the  feelings  of  the  victims,  need  not  be 
said.  Indeed,  the  humor  of  those  wild  days  was  often 
almost  as  startling  and  nerve-testing,  as  its  warfare  was 
desperate  and  its  adventures  were  thrilling. 

Our  boys  were  in  possession  of  a  great  many  Indian 
trophies  which  they  had  captured  at  the  adobe  wall  fight. 
Among  them  were  war  bonnets,  shields,  bows  and  arrows, 
and  quivers;  and  when  twenty  or  more  of  them  would 
don  these  costumes  and  mount  their  horses,  also  decorated 
with  Indian  fixings,  at  a  short  distance,  they  appeared  like 
the  Simon-pure  stuff. 

If  a  young  man  came  to  Dodge,  bragging  that  he 
would  like  to  participate  in  an  Indian  fight,  he  would 
surely  get  it.  Once  a  young  man,  who  is  now  a  merchant 
in  Kansas  City,  arrived,  and  expressed  himself  as  eager 
to  meet  hostile  Indians.  The  boys  invited  him  to  an  ante- 
lope hunt.    Antelope  were  plentiful  then.    Young  men 

—206— 


in  Indian  costume  quietly  slipped  out  ahead.  A  dozen 
or  more  went  along  with  the  visitor.  After  proceeding 
ten  or  twelve  miles  his  companions  commenced  to  brace 
the  stranger  up  by  saying:  "We  had  better  keep  a  sharp 
lookout.  Indians  have  been  in  this  vicinity  lately,  and 
they  say  they  are  the  'dog  soldiers,'  the  worst  on  the 
plains."  Then  they  told  him  a  few  blood  curdling  stories 
about  horrible  atrocities,  just  to  keep  up  his  courage.  At 
this  junction  from  out  of  the  arroyo  came  the  most  un- 
earthly yells,  and  at  the  same  time  the  twenty  men  dashed 
out.  The  boaster  fled  precipitately,  coming  into  town  on 
the  dead  run,  yelling  to  every  one  he  saw  to  get  his  gun; 
the  town  would  soon  be  attacked  by  a  thousand  Indians; 
all  the  other  boys  were  killed  and  he  had  a  narrow  escape; 
to  send  at  once  to  the  fort  for  the  Gatling  gun  and  the 
soldiers  to  defend  the  town,  as  he  was  sure  they  would 
take  it  if  they  didn't  get  assistance.  This  young  man  was 
easily  scared;  but  one  time  they  got  the  wrong  rooster. 
When  they  ran  up  close  to  him  and  commenced  firing 
at  short  range,  (and  this  man  Pappard)  of  whom  I  spoke 
before,  was  one  of  those  who  did  it),  he  found  his  horse 
could  not  outrun  the  others  and  stopped  and  commenced 
firing  back.  Peppard  said  he  heard  one  bullet  whiz  right 
by  his  head,  and  had  enough  and  quit.  After  Peppard 
got  in,  he  said  it  was  a  put-up  job  to  get  him  killed,  and 
wanted  to  murder  the  whole  outfit. 

Above  Dodge,  and  nearly  adjoining  thereto,  was  a 
large  marsh  grown  up  with  brush  and  high  grass.  Many 
times  was  the  unsuspecting  stranger  and  the  young  unso- 
phisticated traveling  man  invited  to  a  snipe  hunt,  and 
with  sack  and  lantern  trudged  away  with  bounding  hopes 
and  a  stomach  fairly  yearning  for  the  delicious  feast 
awaiting  him  next  morning  at  breakfast,  instead  of  the 
tough  buffalo  meat.  When  they  got  to  the  swamp,  they 
would  place  the  traveling  man  on  a  path  leading  into  the 
swamp,  tell  him  to  spread  his  sack  open  with  a  hoop,  and 

have  his  lantern  at  the  mouth  of  the  sack.    The  snipe 

—207— 


would  see  the  light  and  run  right  into  the  sack;  and  as 
soon  as  the  sack  was  full,  it  was  to  be  closed.  In  the 
meantime,  they  would  go  up  and  beat  all  around  the 
swamp  and  drive  the  snipe  down  to  his  trap.  Of  course, 
they  would  come  home  and  leave  the  traveling  man  hold- 
ing the  sack.  Some  of  the  hunters  would  find  their  way 
back  that  same  night;  others  came  in  in  the  morning. 

Along  in  the  early  years  of  Dodge  City's  existence, 
a  doctor  from  the  east,  a  specialist  in  venereal  and  private 
diseases,  wrote  persistently  to  our  postmaster  and  others, 
to  know  if  it  was  not  a  good  field  for  his  practice.  Some 
of  the  gang  got  hold  of  his  letters  and  wrote  him  that  the 
town  was  overrun  with  disease,  that  even  our  ministers 
were  not  free,  and  that  more  than  half  the  people  were 
suffering.  Anyhow,  they  made  out  a  frightful  condition 
our  people  were  in  and  that  it  had  got  beyond  our  physi- 
cians, and  to  come  at  once  if  he  wanted  to  make  a  for- 
tune. They  signed  one  letter,  "Sim  Dip,  Ed  Slump"; 
and  another,  "Blue  Pete". 

Now,  if  the  man  had  had  any  gumption,  he  would 
have  known  these  were  fictitious  names,  but  he  took  the 
bait  and  away  he  came.  On  his  arrival  he  hunted  up 
Sim  Dip  and  Blue  Pete.  Of  course  he  was  introduced  to 
these  gentlemen.  They  came  to  me  for  the  key  and  the 
loan  of  the  Lady  Gay  Theater,  a  large  old  building.  At 
first  I  refused,  but  they  promised  to  do  no  harm,  or  only 
to  scare  the  fellow  and  have  some  fun.  They  printed  and 
put  out  their  notices  and  in  the  afternoon  started  two 
boys  with  bells  to  ring  up  the  town,  which  they  did 
effectually,  judging  by  the  crowd  assembled  that  night. 
The  house  was  crammed  and  jammed  from  the  door  to 
the  stage.  Bat  Masterson  was  on  one  side  of  the  doctor 
and  Wyat  Erb  on  the  other,  with  Jack  Bridges  and  other 
gun  men  sitting  around  on  the  stage  in  chairs. 

The  doctor  had  only  got  on  a  little  way  in  his  lecture 
when  some  on  in  the  audience  called  him  a  liar.  He 
stopped  and  said  to  Bat,  "What  is  that.?   I  don't  under- 

—208— 


fcJD 


Q     O 

d  ^. 


OS 


stand."  Bat  got  up,  pulled  his  gun  in  front,  and  said: 
"I  will  kill  the  first  man  that  interrupts  this  gentleman 
again."  The  lecturer  had  not  gone  much  farther  when 
some  one  again  called  him  a  vile  name.  Bat  and  Wyat 
both  got  up  and  said:  "This  gentleman  is  a  friend  of 
ours,  you  want  to  understand  that,  and  the  next  time  he 
is  interrupted  we  will  begin  shooting  and  we  will  shoot 
to  kill."  He  had  not  gone  much  further  in  his  talk  when 
some  one  in  the  audience  said,  "You  lie,  you  s —  of  a  b — !" 

Bat,  Wyat,  and  Bridges  all  arose  and  began  shooting 
at  the  same  time.  First  they  shot  out  the  lights  and  my! 
what  a  stampede  began.  The  people  not  only  fell  over 
each  other,  but  they  tumbled  over  each  other,  and  rolled 
over,  and  trampled  each  other  under  foot.  Some  reached 
the  doors,  others  took  the  windows,  sash  and  all,  and 
it  was  only  a  short  time  till  darkness  and  quiet  reigned 
in  the  Lady  Gay.  Only  the  smell  of  powder  and  a  dense 
smoke  was  to  be  seen,  coming  out  the  windows  and  doors. 

There  was  a  broken-down,  tin-horn  gambler  by  the 
name  of  Dalton,  a  total  wreck  from  morphine  and 
whisky,  whose  avocation  was  a  sure-thing  game,  and  his 
specialty  was  robbing  the  stiffs  (as  the  dead  bodies  were 
called),  and  he  was  an  expert  at  this.  Dalton  happened 
to  be  asleep  when  this  occurred,  in  a  room  back  of  the 
stage,  but  the  noise  and  shooting  awakened  him.  He  lo- 
cated the  place  at  once  from  the  pistol  smoke  coming 
through  the  windows,  and  was  sure  there  must  be  stiffs 
in  the  building  after  so  much  shooting. 

I  must  interpolate  here,  there  was  scarcely  any  one 
of  that  big  audience  who  were  wise  to  the  lecture,  but 
nearly  all  thought  everything  was  straight  and,  when  the 
shooting  began,  thought,  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  was  a 
genuine  shooting  scrape,  and  they  could  not  get  away 
from  the  scene  of  action  fast  enough  or  far  enough,  but 
kept  on  running  in  the  opposite  direction  and  never  look- 
ing back.  Now  this  lecturer  thought  as  the  audience  did 

—209— 


and,  as  soon  as  the  firing  began,  he  ducked  down  under 
a  table  in  front  of  the  platform  and  there  he  lay,  as  still  as 
a  mouse,  for  fear  someone  would  find  him  and  kill 
him  yet. 

Mr.  Dalton  crawled  along  the  floor  on  his  belly, 
hunting  the  stiffs.  When  he  came  to  the  table,  of  course 
he  felt  the  stiff  underneath  and  proceeded  to  divest  him 
of  his  wealth.  But  the  lecturer  gave  one  mighty  spring, 
threw  Dalton  over  to  one  side,  and  jumped  up  and  ran 
for  dear  life  holloing,  "Murder!  Thieves!"  and  everything 
else,  as  loud  as  he  could  bawl.  Dalton,  equally  scared  to 
have  a  stiff  come  to  life  and  pitch  him  off,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  rob  him,  took  to  his  heels  the  other  way. 
That  was  the  last  seen  of  the  lecturer  that  night;  he 
sneaked  off  and  hid  out. 

The  next  morning  Sim  Dip  and  Blue  Pete  waited  on 
him  and  told  him  a  fine  story — how  sorry  they  were,  but 
if  he  would  stay  over  that  night,  they  would  assure  him  a 
fine  audience  and  ample  protection  to  his  meeting,  and 
he,  never  dreaming  but  what  it  was  all  on  the  square, 
stayed. 

The  gang  wanted  to  know  of  me  if  ten  pounds  of 
powder  would  hurt  him.  I  told  them  a  pound  would  kill 
him  if  it  was  rightly  confined.  This  put  me  on  my  guard 
and,  just  before  dark,  I  found  out  they  were  going  to 
place  a  big  lot  of  powder  under  the  box  on  which  he 
was  going  to  lecture,  and  I  knew  it  would  blow  him  up 
and  maybe  kill  him.  So  I  sent  to  him  privately  and  said: 
"My  friend,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  up  against. 
Get  on  the  local  freight,  which  leaves  here  inside  an  hour, 
and  never  stop  until  you  get  back  to  your  own  Illinois, 
because  you  are  not  fit  to  be  so  far  away  from  home 
without  a  guardian."  When  the  gang  was  certain  he  was 
gone,  they  touched  a  match  to  the  fuse  they  had  con- 
nected with  the  powder  under  the  box,  and  blew  it  to 
kingdom  come.  It  went  way  up  in  the  air  and  came  down 

—210— 


a  mass  of  kindling  wood.  When  the  boys  saw  the  result, 
they  were  glad  they  did  not  carry  the  joke  any  further. 

Soon  after  the  little  town  of  Jetmore,  the  county  seat 
of  Hodgeman  County,  twenty-five  miles  north  of  Dodge 
City,  was  started,  a  man  who  resided  in  that  neighbor- 
hood walked  to  Dodge.  He  said  he  came  to  see  the  sights, 
the  rows,  and  ructions,  which  he  had  heard  of,  that  were 
a  daily  occurrence  in  Dodge. 

After  "his ting"  in  a  few  big  drinks  that  the  boys  had 
treated  him  to,  he  was  full  of  Dutch  courage,  said  he 
was  wild  and  woolly  and  hard  to  curry,  that  he  could 
whip  his  weight  in  wildcats,  and  the  gang  could  not  start 
anything  too  rough  for  him,  and  the  sooner  he  got  action 
the  better  it  would  suit  him.  He  was  a  tall,  lank,  slab- 
sided  galoot — one  of  those  overgrown,  loose-jointed  speci- 
mens of  humanity,  without  muscle,  brawn,  or  brains,  all 
blow  and  bluster,  and  a  weak  coward  one  could  see  by  his 
looks. 

The  gang  saw  at  once  there  was  more  chance  for  fun 
than  a  fight,  and  they  took  him  in  hand  and  treated  him 
accordingly.  He  was  very  poorly  dressed,  his  pants  stuck 
down  in  his  old  boots,  an  old,  flap-down,  dirty  white  hat, 
and  a  long,  dirty,  drab  duster  for  a  coat.  This  duster  had 
once  been  white,  but  was  now  so  ragged  and  dirty  you 
could  scarce  tell  what  color  it  had  been.  Well,  it  was  not 
worth  two  bits,  and  his  old  wollen  shirt  was  no  better. 
The  boys  soon  found  him  a  freak  from  way  back,  and,  as 
usual,  the  gang  was  flush,  and  you  never  struck  a  more 
liberal  crowd  when  they  had  money.  It  was,  "Come  on 
boys!  brace  up  to  the  bar  and  name  your  poison,"  and  it 
was  their  especial  delight  to  entertain  strangers. 

The  man  from  Jetmore  was  no  exception.   As  fast 

as  one  would  treat  him  another  would  step  to  the  front, 

but  it  was  just  like  pouring  water  down  a  rat  hole;  and, 

while  he  was  drinking,  someone  would  set  his  duster  on 

fire,  and  I  expect  a  dozen  times  they  came  near  burning 

him  up,  until  the  old  duster  was  completely  used  up.  Of 

—211— 


course,  the  man  would  rave  and  swear  and  go  on  at  a 
terrible  rate,  threatening  the  ones  who  set  the  fire  with 
all  kinds  of  punishment,  if  he  only  knew  who  they  were. 
They  then  bought  him  a  new  duster,  but  he  took  it  so 
hard  and  raised  such  a  row  that  this  duster  shared  the 
same  fate  as  the  old  one,  until  they  had  bought  him  three 
or  four.  Besides  burning  his  duster,  they  had  all  sorts 
of  fun  with  him — had  gun  plays  with  blank  cartridges, 
but  of  course  the  man  didn't  know  they  were  blank,  and 
they  frightened  him  nearly  to  death. 

When  they  found  there  was  no  fight  in  him  at  all, 
they  persuaded  him  to  have  these  parties  arrested,  and, 
sure  enough,  they  made  several  arrests  for  the  man,  ap- 
pointed a  sheriff,  empaneled  a  jury,  and  held  court  that 
night  in  one  of  the  principal  saloons.  There  were  several 
bright  young  lawyers  in  Dodge,  and  they  were  anxious 
for  the  play,  and  let  me  say  right  here,  there  was  much 
wit  and  argument  and  repartee  displayed  on  both  sides. 
It  was  really  a  great  treat  to  hear  the  witty  arguments 
that  each  side  put  up,  as  well  as  the  eloquence  that  flowed 
spontaneously  from  these  lawyers  over  nothing.  The 
twelve  jurors  were  selected  with  all  the  decorum  a  regular 
court  would  exact.  They  were  seated  in  chairs  on  a 
raised  platform,  they  erected  a  rostrum  for  the  judge,  a 
box  for  the  prisoner,  and  a  seat  for  the  witness.  When- 
ever a  good  point  was  made  by  either  side,  someone  pro- 
posed a  drink  for  all  hands;  judge,  jury,  prisoner,  and 
witness,  as  well  as  the  general  crowd,  all  planted  their 
stomachs  up  to  the  bar  and  were  helped. 

Soon,  with  the  constant  drinking,  the  crowd  began  to 
get  hilarious,  and  began  to  pelt  the  witness,  the  prisoner, 
the  sheriff,  and  the  jury  with  eggs.  They  were  fresh, 
(they  could  get  no  bad  ones),  and  they  kept  that  crowd 
dodging.  First  one  and  then  another,  and  then  the 
sheriff,  the  witness,  and  the  jury  would  get  it  all  together. 
I  tell  you,  the  eggs  fell  around  there  as  thick  as  hail,  and 
no  one  would  seem  to  be  hit  who  was  looking;  they  were 

—212— 


always  taken  by  surprise.  Thq  judge  sat  there  on  his 
platform  and  just  shook  with  laughter  until  the  tears 
came  out  of  his  eyes.  I  never  did  see  a  more  tickled  man. 
He  just  enjoyed  that  fun  more  than  anyone  in  the  crowd. 
He  was  nicely  dressed  and  well  gotten  up  for  the  occasion, 
very  slow  and  dignified,  except  when  he  gave  way  to 
laughter. 

When  the  egging  had  been  going  on  some  time,  I 
took  several  of  the  boys  outside  and  said:  "This  is  too 
good  for  the  judge;  why  not  give  him  some  of  the 
chicken  pie?  We're  not  giving  him  a  fair  deal.  It  is  a 
shame  to  neglect  him;  he  might  feel  offended.  He  ought 
to  have  his  share  of  the  hen  fruit."  The  idea  caught  and 
they  went  back  loaded.  The  judge  was  giving  in  his 
wise  opinion  on  a  point  when,  whang!  an  egg  took  him 
in  the  forehead  and  then  another  came.  He  took  out 
his  fine,  large,  white  silk  handkerchief  and  said:  "This 
may  be  real  funny  to  you,  but  d — d  if  I  see  any  fun 
in  it.  You  all  think  yourselves  mighty  smart!"  This  was 
too  much  and  they  just  showered  him,  pelted  him  from 
head  to  foot.  He  got  down,  put  on  his  hat,  and  walked 
out  as  mad  as  a  bull,  and  never  more  was  seen  down 
town  after  night.  It  cured  him  completely  of  playing 
his  jokes.  He  had  been,  up  to  that  time,  one  of  the 
greatest  jokers  Dodge  City  ever  had,  but,  while  he  de- 
lighted in  playing  them  on  others,  it  made  him  hot  to 
have  jokes  played  on  him.  He  was  one  of  those  who 
couldn't  stand  a  joke.  He  caught  the  writer  asleep  one 
day,  and  succeeded  in  handcuffing  him,  and  I  had  to 
get  the  services  of  a  blacksmith.  Still,  he  was  an  all 
around  good  fellow,  God  bless  his  soul!  and  was  beloved 
by  every  one  who  knew  him. 

Among  the  first  signal  officers  sent  to  Dodge  was 
Sergeant  W.  W.  Wimberg,  an  innocent,  nice,  polite  gen- 
tleman, but  what  a  greenhorn!  and  he  richly  deserved 
the  name — as  green  as  a  gourd.   The  gang  soon  got  on 

to  this,  and  what  pranks  they  did  play  on  him! 

—213— 


He  was  taking  a  young  lady,  on  whom  he  was  much 
struck,  home  from  a  dance  one  night,  to  the  west  part 
of  the  town,  when  the  boys  jumped  out  of  a  hollow  and 
began  firing  their  guns.  The  young  lady,  I  think,  was 
wise  to  the  job,  but  Wimberg  never  bade  that  young 
lady  goodnight;  he  stood  not  on  the  question  of  going, 
but,  without  looking  to  the  east  or  west,  he  turned  tail 
and  just  flew. 

Mr.  A.  B.  Webster  took  it  upon  himself  to  avenge 
the  insult  to  the  lady,  said  his  conduct  was  unbecoming 
an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  and  next  day  challenged  the 
sergeant.  He — the  sergeant — took  the  matter  up  before 
the  commanding  officer  at  Fort  Dodge,  who  was  onto 
the  joke  and  in  with  the  boys.  He  promptly  told  Wim- 
berg he  must  accept  the  challenge  and  fight  Webster. 
He  said  the  dignity  of  the  army  must  be  maintained  at 
all  hazards,  but  referred  him  to  General  Pope,  the  Com- 
mander of  the  Department  of  the  Missouri,  at  Fort  Leav- 
enworth, saying  he  must  consult  the  general  by  wire. 
The  gang  had  the  operator  fixed,  so  when  Wimberg  tele- 
graphed General  Pope,  of  course  the  message  never  went, 
but  General  Pope's  answer  was  prompt  and  to  the  point: 
"You  must  fight,  by  all  means.  The  dignity  of  the  army 
must  be  maintained,  or  resign  at  once."  Of  course,  the 
poor  fellow  was  in  a  great  dilemma,  and  of  the  two  evils 
he  chose  the  least  and  wrote  out  his  resignation,  when 
mutual  friends  interfered  and  stopped  the  duel. 

They  had  charades  at  Dodge,  and  the  sergeant  was 
generally  head  man.  They  got  him  to  deliver  a  darkey 
speech,  and  of  course  he  had  to  black  up  for  the  occasion, 
so  they  put  shellac  or  some  kind  of  substance  into  the 
blacking,  which,  when  dried,  could  not  be  rubbed  off 
nor  washed  off,  and  this  poor  fellow  had  to  keep  his 
room  until  the  blacking  wore  off  his  face. 

Once  they  were  moving  a  house,  just  outside  the  back 

door  of  which  there  was  a  large  sink  hole,  filled  with  vile 

filth,  and  this  sink  was  lightly  covered  up  to  stop  the 

—214—- 


smell.  An  idea  struck  the  gang,  and  they  got  Wimberg 
next  to  this  door,  while  right  across  the  street  opposite 
the  back  door  they  started  to  shooting.  Some  one  threw 
open  the  back  door,  exclaiming,  "There  is  murder  going 
on!"  Wimberg  was  very  excited,  and  this  was  enough 
for  him.  He  made  a  big  jump  and  landed  in  that  vile 
filth,  up  to  his  neck,  and  he  could  not  get  out  without 
assistance.  He  always  was  neatly  dressed,  but  this  day, 
I  think  he  had  on  a  white  suit.  He  was  so  hounded  by 
these  rough  jokes  that  he  asked  to  be  changed,  and  the 
boys  lost  their  game,  much  to  their  sorrow. 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  long  while  ago,  when  Dodge 
was  young  and  very  wicked,  there  came  a  man  to  town, 
an  itinerant  preacher.  In  the  present  age  you  would  call 
him  an  evangelist.  Well,  anyway,  he  possessed  a  wonder- 
ful magnetic  power,  he  was  marvelously  gifted  that  way; 
he  would  cast  his  spell  over  the  people,  and  draw  crowds 
that  no  one  ever  dreamed  of  doing  before,  in  fact  he 
captured  some  of  the  toughest  of  the  toughs  of  wicked 
Dodge,  and  from  the  very  first  he  set  his  heart  on  the 
capture  of  one  Dave  Mathews — alias.  Mysterious  Dave — 
who  was  city  marshal  at  the  time,  said  to  be  a  very 
wicked  man,  a  killer  of  killers.  And  it  was  and  is  an 
undoubted  fact  that  Dave  had  more  dead  men  to  his 
credit,  at  that  time,  than  any  other  man  in  the  west. 
Seven  by  actual  count  in  one  night,  in  one  house,  and 
all  at  one  sitting.  Indeed  he  was  more  remarkable  in 
his  way  than  the  preacher  was  in  his. 

Well,  as  I  said,  he  set  his  heart  on  Dave,  and  he  went 

after  him  regularly  every  morning,  much  to  the  disgust 

of  Dave.   Indeed  he  was  so  persistent,  that  Dave  began 

to  hate  him.  In  the  meantime,  the  people  began  to  feel 

the  power  of  the  preacher,,  for  he  had  about  him  an 

unexplainable  something  that  they  could  not  resist,  and 

the  one  little  lone  church  was  so  crowded  they  had  to 

get  another  building,  and  this  soon  would  not  hold  half 

the  audience.   Finally  they  got  a  large  hall  known  as 

—215— 


the  "Lady  Gay  Dance  Hall"  and  fitted  it  up  with  boards 
laid  across  empty  boxes  for  seats.  There  was  a  small 
stage  at  the  rear  of  the  building,  and  on  this  was  placed 
a  goods  box  for  a  pulpit  for  the  preacher.  Now  whether 
or  not  Dave  had  become  infected  by  the  general  com- 
plaint that  seized  the  people,  or  whether  the  earnest 
persistence  of  the  preacher  had  captured  him  I  know  not. 
Anyhow,  certain  it  was,  he  promised  the  preacher  to 
attend  the  meeting  that  night,  and  certain  it  was,  Dave 
would  not  break  his  word.  He  was  never  known  to  do 
that.  If  he  promised  a  man  he  would  kill  him,  Dave  was 
sure  to  do  it. 

It  was  soon  noised  around  by  the  old  "he  pillars"  of 
the  church,  and  the  "she  pillars"  too  that  Dave  was 
captured  at  last,  and  what  a  crowd  turned  out  that  night 
to  see  the  wonderful  work  of  God  brought  about  through 
the  agency  of  the  preacher — the  capture  of  Mysterious 
Dave. 

Soon  the  hall  was  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity,  and 
Dave,  true  to  his  promise,  was  seen  to  enter.  He  was  at 
once  conducted  to  the  front,  and  given  the  seat  of  honor 
reserved  for  him  in  front  of  the  preacher,  and  Oh!  how 
that  preacher  preached  straight  at  him.  He  told  how 
wonderful  was  the  ways  of  Providence  in  softening  the 
heart  of  wicked  Dave  Mathews,  and  what  rejoicing  there 
would  be  in  heaven  over  the  conversion  of  such  a  man. 
Then  he  appealed  to  the  faithful  ones,  the  old  "he  pillars" 
of  the  church,  and  said  to  them,  now  he  was  ready  to  die. 
He  had  accomplished  the  one  grand  object  of  his  life. 
He  had  converted  the  wickedest  man  in  the  country,  and 
was  willing  now  and  at  once  to  die,  for  he  knew  he 
would  go  right  straight  to  heaven.  Then  he  called  upon 
the  faithful  ones  to  arise  and  give  in  their  experience, 
which  they  did,  each  one  singly,  and  said,  they  too,  like 
the  preacher,  were  willing  to  die  right  now  and  here,  for 
they  knew  that  they,  too,  would  go  right  straight  to  heav- 
en for  helping  to  carry  out  this  great  work.    In  fact,  most 

—216— 


of  them  said,  like  the  preacher,  that  they  wanted  to  die 
right  now  so  they  could  all  go  to  heaven  rejoicing  to- 
gether. Dave  sat  their  silent  with  bowed  head.  He  told 
me  afterwards,  he  never  in  all  his  scrapes  was  in  such  a 
hot  box  in  his  life.  He  said  he  would  much  rather  to 
have  been  in  a  hot  all  around  fight  with  a  dozen  fellows 
popping  at  him  all  at  once,  than  to  have  been  there.  He 
said  he  would  have  been  more  at  ease,  and  felt  more  at 
home,  and  I  expect  he  told  the  truth. 

Finally  he  raised  to  his  feet  and  acknowledged  he 
had  been  hard  hit  and  the  bullet  had  struck  a  vital  spot, 
and  at  last  religion  had  been  poured  into  him;  that  he 
felt  it  tingling  from  his  toes  through  his  whole  body, 
even  to  his  finger  tips,  and  he  knew  he  had  religion  now, 
sure,  and  if  he  died  now  would  surely  go  to  heaven,  and 
pulling  both  of  his  six  shooters  in  front  of  him,  he  said 
further,  for  fear  that  some  of  the  brothers  here  tonight 
might  backslide  and  thereby  lose  their  chance  of  heaven 
he  thought  they  had  better  all  die  tonight  together  as 
they  had  so  expressed  themselves,  and  the  best  plan  he 
said  would  be  for  him  to  kill  them  all,  and  then  kill 
himself.  Suddenly  jerking  out  a  pistol  in  each  hand,  he 
said  to  the  preacher,  "I  will  send  you  first,"  firing  over 
the  preacher's  head.  Wheeling  quickly  he  fired  several 
shots  into  the  air,  in  the  direction  of  the  faithful  ones. 

The  much-frightened  preacher  fell  flat  behind  the 
dry-goods  box,  as  also  did  the  faithful  ones  who  ducked 
down  as  low  as  they  could.  Then  Dave  proceeded  to  shoot 
out  the  lights,  remarking  as  he  walked  towards  the  door, 
"You  are  all  a  set  of  liars  and  frauds,  you  don't  want  to 
go  to  heaven  with  me  at  all."  This  broke  up  the  meeting, 
and  destroyed  the  usefulness  of  that  preacher  in  this 
vicinity.  His  power  was  gone,  and  he  departed  for  new 
fields,  and  I  am  sorry  to  relate,  the  people  went  back  to 
their  backsliding  and  wickedness. 

Notwithstanding  the  general  tone  of  these  stories,  all 
the  joking  of  early  days  did  not  revolve  around  the  six 

—217— 


shooter  and  cartridge  belt.  Sometimes  a  widely  differ- 
ent instrument  of  administration  was  choosen,  though  the 
methods  of  administrating  never  varied;  it  was  ever  di- 
rect, vigorous,  and  practically  merciless. 

In  the  first  years  of  Dodge  City  a  merchant  in  the 
town  had  a  government  hay  contract.  He  was  also  sutler 
at  the  fort.  There  was  also  a  saloon  keeper  who  kept  the 
best  billiard  hall  in  the  town,  an  Irishman,  and  a  clever 
fellow,  whom  the  officers  preferred  to  patronize,  by  the 
name  of  Moses  Waters.  Now,  this  Waters  was  full  of 
jokes,  and  a  fighter  from  away  back.  The  officers  made 
his  saloon  their  headquarters  when  they  came  to  Dodge, 
but,  as  a  general  thing,  upon  their  arrival,  they  sent  for 
the  sutler  and  had  him  go  the  rounds  with  them — a 
chaperon  they  deemed  essential,  lest  they  might  get  into 
difficulties,  and  the  sutler  was  as  eager  to  have  their 
company  as  they  were  to  have  him  along.  One  evening 
about  dark  the  post  sutler  came  into  Dodge  from  his  hay 
camp  to  purchase  a  suit  of  clothes  suitable  for  camp 
service.  Waters,  in  passing  along  Front  street,  saw  the 
suder  trying  on  the  suit,  and  an  idea  struck  him.  He 
went  immediately  to  his  saloon,  wrote  a  note  to  the  sutler, 
as  he  had  often  seen  the  officers  do,  presenting  his  com- 
pliments, and  requesting  his  presence  at  once  at  his 
saloon.  The  buildings  on  Front  street  were  all  low,  frame 
shanties  with  porches.  On  the  corners  of  the  porch  roofs 
were  placed  barrels  of  water  in  case  of  fire,  and  the 
sutler  had  to  pass  under  these  porches  to  get  to  Water's 
saloon.  As  soon  as  he  was  properly  rigged  out  in  his 
new  outfit,  he  hurried  to  Water's  saloon  to  meet  his  of- 
ficer friends,  as  he  supposed,  not  suspecting  any  danger, 
of  course.  But  no  sooner  had  he  passed  under  one  of 
these  porches  on  the  corner,  than  a  barrel  of  water  was 
dashed  over  him,  nearly  knocking  him  down,  wetting 
him  to  the  skin,  and  nearly  drowning  him.  He  knew 
as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  his  breath,  and  as  he  heard 
the  parties  running  over  the  roof  to  the  rear  of  the  build- 

—218— 


ing  and  jumping  to  the  ground,  what  had  happened  and 
what  was  up. 

When  he  reached  Water's  saloon  there  was  a  crowd, 
looking  as  innocent  as  could  be,  and  saying,  "Come  in 
and  wet  your  new  clothes,"  which  was  a  common  custom. 
"Yes,"  the  sutler  said,  "I  will  wet  them.  Barkeep,  set  up 
the  drinks.  It  is  all  right,  and  I  am  going  to  get  even." 
There  were,  of  course,  no  officers  in  sight. 

Some  time  previous  to  this.  Waters,  who  had  a  lot  of 
horses,  and  some  fine  ones  by  the  way,  had  built  him  a 
large  barn  and  painted  it  blood  red.  He  took  great  pride 
in  this  barn,  more  on  account  of  its  color  than  anything 
else.  He  had  cut  out  in  front  of  each  stall  a  place  large 
enough  for  a  horse  to  get  his  head  through,  to  give  the 
horse  air  and  light.  Waters  had  an  Englishman,  a  very 
fine  hostler,  to  attend  his  horses.  One  day,  soon  after  the 
incident  mentioned  above,  a  tall,  finely  built  young  Mis- 
sourian  came  to  th^  sutler,  as  was  frequently  the  case, 
and  asked  for  work.  The  sutler  said,  "Yes,  I  can  give 
you  work.  Can  you  white  wash?"  He  said,  "I  can  beat 
the  man  who  invented  whitewashing."  The  sutler  got 
two  old-fashioned  cedar  buckets,  holding  about  three 
gallons  each,  and  two  whitewashing  brushes,  a  short  and 
a  long-handled  one.  "Now,"  said  the  sutler,  "I  want  you 
to  mix  these  buckets  full  and  thick,  and  go  down  to  that 
red  stable  (showing  him  the  stable),  and  plaster  it  thick 
with  whitewash.  I  painted  it  red,  but  everyone  seems  to 
dislike  the  color,  and  I  want  it  changed.  But,  say,  there 
is  a  crazy  Irishman,  by  the  name  of  Waters,  who  imagines 
he  owns  the  stable.  He  may  come  around  and  try  to  give 
you  some  trouble.  If  he  does,  don't  give  him  any  gentle 
treatment.  Use  him  as  rough  as  you  can.  Smash  him 
with  your  whitewash  brush,  and  if  you  can  put  a  white- 
wash bucket  over  his  head  and  nearly  drown  him,  I  will 
pay  you  two  dollars  extra.  Try  and  do  this  anyway,  and 
I  will  pay  you  more  for  it  than  for  doing  the  job  of 

whitewashing." 

—219— 


Soon  after  the  talk,  off  went  the  big  Missourian  with 
his  whitewash  buckets  and  brushes.  There  was  a  strong 
west  wind  blowing,  so  he  commenced  on  the  east  side  of 
the  barn.  lie  went  at  it  like  he  was  mauling  rails,  and 
was  doing  a  fine  job.  The  Englishman  was  shut  up  in- 
side, giving  the  horses  their  morning  scrubbing.  At  last 
he  was  attracted  by  the  continual  knocking  of  the  brush 
against  the  stable.  In  the  meantime  quite  a  crowd  had 
gathered,  looking  on  at  the  curious  spectacle  of  the  big 
Missourian  whitewashing  the  stable.  At  last  the  English- 
man poked  out  his  head,  demanding  of  the  Missourian: 
"What  the  bloody  'ell  are  you  doing,  anyway?"  Down 
comes  the  Missourian's  brush  on  the  face  and  head  of  the 
Englishman,  while  at  the  same  time  he  said  that  the  man 
who  gave  him  the  job  told  him  that  an  ignorant  Irishman 
would  try  to  stop  him.  This  was  too  much  for  the 
Englishman,  who  went  across  the  street  to  Water's  room, 
dripping  all  over  with  whitewash. 

Waters  being  a  saloonkeeper  and  compelled  to  be  up 
late  at  night,  slept  late  in  the  morning,  and  was  still  in 
bed.  Waters  could  hardly  believe  the  Englishman's  story, 
that  anyone  would  dare  whitewash  his  beautiful  red  barn. 
But  he  put  on  his  pants,  slippers,  and  hat,  and  went  over 
to  see.  Waters  was  a  fighter — in  fact,  he  was  something 
of  a  prize-fighter,  and  was  a  powerful  and  heavy-set  man, 
and  did  not  think  he  could  be  whipped.  The  reason  the 
Missourian  got  such  an  advantage  of  him.  Waters  told  me 
afterwards,  was  because  he  was  trying  to  get  up  to  him  as 
close  as  possible  so  that  he  could  give  him  a  knock-out 
blow.  But  the  Missourian  was  too  quick  for  him.  Waters 
approached  the  Missourian  very  slowly  and  deliberately, 
talking  to  him  all  the  while  in  a  very  mild  and  persuasive 
way,  but  when  he  was  almost  within  striking  distance  the 
Missourian  put  the  bucket  of  whitewash  over  his  head. 
It  almost  strangled  Waters,  and  he  had  to  buck  and  back 
and  squirm  to  shake  the  bucket  off.  When  he  did,  and 
had  shaken  the  whitewash  out  of  his  eyes,  nose,  and 

— 220— 


mouth,  what  a  fight  began.  The  young  Missourian  was  a 
giant,  but  Waters  was  more  skilled  by  training.  Still 
they  had  it,  rough  and  tumble,  for  a  long  time,  first 
Waters  on  top  and  then  the  Missourian.  Finally,  the 
Missourian  found  that  Waters  was  getting  the  best  of  it, 
and,  with  a  desperate  effort,  threw  Waters  to  one  side, 
tore  loose,  and  made  for  the  government  reservation, 
only  a  few  hundred  yards  distant,  followed  closely  by 
Waters,  amid  great  cheering  by  the  crowd.  It  was  indeed 
laughable,  the  Missourian  in  the  lead,  beating  the  ground 
with  his  big  feet  and  long  legs,  with  all  the  vim  and 
energy  he  possessed,  and  as  if  his  life  depended  on  the 
race  (and  perhaps  it  did),  followed  by  the  low,  squatty 
figure  of  Waters  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  slippers,  minus 
hat  and  coat  with  the  whitewash  dripping  from  him  at 
every  point,  and  tearing  down  with  equal  energy,  as  if 
his  life,  too,  depended  upon  the  race.  The  race  of  the 
two  men  presented  a  most  laughable  scene,  too  ludicrous 
for  anything.  They  both  seemed  determined  on  the  issue, 
but  the  long  legs  of  the  Missourian  were  evidently  too 
much  for  Water's  short  ones,  and  he  finally  abandoned 
the  chase. 

There  is  nothing  further  to  the  story,  except  that  the 
sutler  had  to  hide  out  for  a  few  days,  until  mutual  friends 
could  bring  in  a  white  flag  and  agree  upon  terms  of 
peace. 

I  have  related  enough  to  show  that  the  spirit  of 
practical  joking  and  raillery  was  very  prevalent  in  south- 
western, frontier  days.  Most  of  it  was  good  natured  and 
meant  to  be  harmless;  but  I  must  confess  that  there  was 
scarcely  anything  too  sacred  to  be  made  the  butt  of  a 
joke,  if  the  trend  of  inclination  turned  that  way.  Even 
love,  instead  of  being  a  serious  matter,  was  often  treated 
as  a  joke  and  laughed  into  materialization  or  renuncia- 
tion, as  the  case  might  be.   The  following  love  letter  of 

—221— 


the  times  might  have  been  written  en  route  on  the  Texas 
drive,  or  by  the  camp  fire  in  a  buffalo  hunter's  camp: 

"Dearest:— 

"My  love  is  stronger  than  the  smell  of  coffee,  patent 
butter,  or  the  kick  of  a  young  cow.  Sensations  of  exquisite 
joy  go  through  me  like  chlorite  of  ant  through  an  army 
cracker,  and  caper  over  my  heart  like  young  goats  on  a 
stable  roof.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  lift  myself  by  my  boot 
straps  to  the  height  of  a  church  steeple,  or  like  an  old 
stage  horse  in  a  green  pasture.  As  the  mean  purp  hankers 
after  sweet  milk,  so  do  I  hanker  after  your  presence.  And 
as  the  goslin'  swimmeth  in  the  mud  puddle,  so  do  I 
swim  in  a  sea  of  delightfulness  when  you  are  near  me. 
My  heart  flops  up  and  down  like  cellar  doors  in  a  country 
town;  and  if  my  love  is  not  reciprocated,  I  will  pine  away 
and  die  like  a  poisoned  bed-bug,  and  you  can  come  and 
catch  cold  on  my  grave." 


-222— 


Chapter  XII. 

When  Conviviality  Was  the  Fashion  and  the  Rule 

'T^HOSE  were  days  of  hard  drinking  as  well  as  hard  rid- 

ing  and  hard  fighting.  The  man  who  did  not  drink 
in  some  degree,  was  regarded  as  something  of  a  freak,  and 
as  lacking  the  social  spirit.  Stories  innumerable,  tragic, 
pathetic,  humorous,  may  be  told  of  Dodge  City  and  her 
people,  showing  the  place  that  intoxicants  filled  in  the 
life  of  the  time  and  place,  and  with  their  plots  centering 
around  the  glass  and  the  bar  of  the  frontier  saloon. 

In  the  early  days  of  Dodge,  the  town  was  often  visited 
by  a  traveling  man  whom  we  will  call  Thomas  Smith, 
who  is  now  a  very  wealthy  Christian  gentleman,  worth  a 
million,  and  now  making  amends  for  his  early  debauches 
by  charitable  work,  teaching  poor  boys  the  way  they 
should  go.  This  salesman  would  always  put  up  at  the 
Dodge  House,  and  when  he  had  finished  his  rounds 
among  his  customers  and  finished  his  work,  he  would 
proceed  to  get  on  his  usual  drunk.  His  firm  would  wire 
Mr.  Cox,  proprietor  of  the  hotel,  to  take  care  of  him  until 
he  recovered  from  his  spree  and  send  them  his  bill.  Of 
course  he  had  hosts  of  friends,  as  he  was  a  fine  fellow  as 
well  as  salesman,  when  sober. 

The  hotel  was  built  clear  through  to  the  other  street 
and,  in  building  back,  the  floor  at  the  rear  was  below  the 
surface  of  the  ground,  as  it  was  a  little  up-hill  from  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  this  placed  the  windows  of  the 
back  part  level  with  the  ground.  Now,  Tom  was  in  one 
of  these  rooms  with  the  window  level  with  the  ground, 
and  of  course  the  window  was  exposed.  Tom  was  getting 
a  little  over  his  spree.  He  had  been  seeing  snakes. 

Mr.  Kelly  had  a  large  black  bear,  a  tremendous  fel- 
low. He  had  broken  his  chain  in  the  night,  and  crawled 
into  Tom's  window  and  gotten  under  the  bed.  Tom 

—223— 


had  been  given  an  opiate  the  night  before,  and  of  course 
he  was  dead  to  all  noises  until  the  effects  of  the  drug 
wore  off.  But  about  breakfast  time,  Mr.  Bear  turned 
over  and  groaned.  This  raised  Tom  up  in  the  bed  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  bear's  chain  rattled.  Tom  said  to 
himself,  "My  God!  have  I  got  'em  again?"  But  Mr. 
Bear  made  another  move  which  lifted  Tom  up  again. 
This  was  too  much.  He  jumped  out  of  bed,  hastily  lifted 
the  bed  clothes,  and  there  was  Mr.  Bear,  staring  him  in 
the  face,  yawning,  and  rattling  his  chain.  Tom  gave  one 
tremendous  scream  and  rushed  for  the  dining  room. 

Breakfast  was  in  full  blast  at  the  time,  the  room 
crowded  with  guests,  and  with  six  girl  waitresses.  When 
Tom  rushed  in  in  his  nightgown,  he  tripped  and  fell 
over  one  of  the  girls,  with  a  waiter  full  of  dishes.  Of 
course  they  both  went  down  together,  and  of  all  the 
screaming  and  holloing,  and  rushing  out  of  that  dining 
room,  was  a  caution. 

Another  time  Tom  got  on  one  of  his  sprees  at  Cald- 
well, Kansas,  another  wild  and  woolly  cattle  town  like 
Dodge,  and  the  boys  hired  a  trained  monkey,  from  an 
organ  grinder,  and  put  it  in  his  room  one  morning  be- 
fore day.  Tom  was  convalescing  and  they  thought  a  big 
scare  would  do  him  good  and  maybe  break  him  of  his 
sprees.  Tom  was  awakened  about  breakfast  time,  with  the 
monkey  sitting  right  over  him  at  the  head  of  his  bed, 
where  the  boys  had  placed  him,  chattering  away  and 
cutting  up  all  kinds  of  monkey  tricks.  Tom  said  he  was 
sure  he  had  them  again.  But  recollecting  his  six-shooter, 
he  went  to  his  suitcase,  got  it  out,  and  said:  "Old  fellow, 
if  you  ain't  a  monkey,  I  am  in  a  bad  fix;  but  if  you  are  a 
monkey,  you  sure  are  in  a  h — 1  of  a  fix."  Then  he  took 
good  aim  and  fired.  Down  came  Mr.  Monkey,  and  the 
boys  lost  a  hundred  dollars  and  the  joke  was  on  them. 

Bobby  Gill  was  one  of  the  most  notorious  characters 

and  was  the  best  all-around  "sure  thing"  man  that  ever 

struck  Dodge  City.   He  was  up-to-date  in  all  the  tricks 

—224— 


of  the  trade,  and  was  capable  of  working  all  the  various 
devices  known  to  the  brotherhood,  from  the  opening  of 
a  spring  match  safe  to  the  gold  brick  proposition.  He 
had  the  brains  to  use  them  all,  but  whisky  was  what 
caused  his  downfall.  He  could  not  keep  away  from  it. 
At  one  time,  he  abstained  from  drinking  for  a  week.  He 
came  across  the  "dead  line,"  where  he  had  been  staying 
to  keep  from  drinking,  and  was  very  "blue",  down- 
hearted, and  nervous.  When  he  reached  the  precincts  of 
the  "gang",  he  was  subjected  to  the  ridicule,  "kidding", 
and  taunts  of  the  fellows.  It  was  a  cold  snowy  morning, 
and  the  river  was  out  of  its  banks  and  full  of  immense 
cakes  of  floating  ice  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide.  Bobby 
said  to  the  "jokesmiths",  "Kid  as  much  as  you  please, 
but  it  takes  more  nerve  to  stop  drinking  when  in  the  con- 
dition in  which  I  have  been,  than  it  does  to  go  down  to 
the  river  now,  strip,  and  swim  across  to  the  other  bank." 
I  believed  him.  I  can  sympathize  with  such  a  man  be- 
cause I  have  been  in  the  same  condition  myself.  He  was 
right  and  I  knew  he  told  the  truth. 

One  of  the  many  times  he  was  before  the  police  court 
was  due  to  hard  luck.  He  was  clear  down  and  out  of 
pocket  and  friends.  One  could  discover  a  kindly  feeling 
for  him,  for,  as  a  general  thing,  when  a  man  plays  in 
such  hard  luck,  no  matter  what  his  antecedents,  one  can't 
help  pitying  him.  One's  heart  goes  out  to  him,  and  so  it 
was  in  this  case.  The  sentence  was  twenty  dollars  and 
costs.  The  marshal  said,  "Well,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
I  am  willing  to  throw  off  my  costs;"  the  clerk  said,  "I 
will  do  the  same;"  and  the  judge  said,  "So  will  I.  Mr. 
Gill,  what  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself?"  He  prompt- 
ly jumped  up  and,  quick  as  a  flash,  and  said,  "Your 
Honor,  I  never  was  yet  out-done  in  generosity,  and  I  will 
not  be  in  this  case;  I  will  throw  off  the  fine."  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  he  never  paid  any  fine. 

One  day  Bobby  was  in  the  Long  Branch  saloon  sleep- 
—225— 


ing  ofif  a  big  drunk.  There  was  a  ledge  of  wood  all 
around  the  room  about  three  and  a  half  feet  from  the 
floor.  Bobby  had  his  chair  tilted  back  and  his  head 
resting  on  this  ledge,  with  a  broad-brimmed  Stetson  hat 
half  over  his  face.  We  put  a  line  of  powder  along  on 
this  ledge,  from  the  door  to  where  Bobby  was  sleeping 
(which  was  quite  a  distance  from  the  door),  and  near  his 
head  we  placed  a  full  quarter  pound  of  the  powder, 
pulled  his  hat  well  over  his  face  to  thoroughly  protect  it, 
and  stationed  several  men  in  the  saloon  with  six-shooters, 
and  the  large  tin  pan,  used  for  making  large  quantities  of 
"Tom  and  Jerry",  was  so  placed  that  the  most  noise 
possible  could  be  made  when  it  was  hit  with  a  club  by  a 
man.  The  signal  was  given  and  the  powder  touched  off, 
the  six-shooters  were  fired,  and  the  clubbing  of  the  tin 
pan  began  while  the  bar  and  tables  were  hammered  with 
billiard  cues.    Imagine  the  noise  and  confusion. 

The  smoke  from  the  burned  powder  was  so  dense 
that  one  could  scarcely  see.  Bobby  made  a  dive  for  the 
door  and  cleared  the  way  before  him.  There  were  some 
men  sitting  around  the  big  stove;  Bobby  ran  right  over 
them  and,  when  he  encountered  a  chair,  he  just  threw  it 
over  his  shoulder  and  continued  his  flight.  He  said  af- 
terwards he  had  been  dreaming  about  fire  and,  when  the 
racket  began,  he  imagined  that  he  was  in  a  burning  build- 
ing, from  which  all  but  himself  had  escaped,  and  he  could 
see  the  burning  rafters  falling  down  upon  him.  He  never 
opened  his  eyes  but  once,  and  never  stopped  running  until 
he  was  home,  on  the  other  side  of  the  railroad  track.  This 
was  one  good  treatment  for  him  and  his  complaint,  and 
he  was  not  over  on  the  north  side  again  for  a  month.  He 
was  afraid  we  would  kill  him  and  he  actually  believed  so. 

Bobby  himself  was  great  practical  joker.  Once  he 
secured  a  large  queens  ware  crate  that  would  just  com- 
fortably fill  a  wagon  box,  and  standing  some  four  feet 
high.  In  this  crate,  with  the  assistance  of  Kinch  Riley, 
he  placed  Jim  Dalton,  a  notorious  booze  fiend,  who  was 

—226— 


in  a  helpless  state  of  intoxication.  They  covered  this 
crate  with  an  ample  tarpaulin,  entirely  concealing  the 
contents  from  view.  Attaching  a  team  of  mules  to  the 
wagon,  they  drove  up  Main  Street,  stopping  in  front  of 
each  saloon  for  exhibition  purposes. 

Bobby  acted  as  crier  and  opened  the  proceedings  by 
shouting:  "Come,  everybody!  this  is  the  golden  oppor- 
tunity. We  have  here  on  exhibition,  concealed  under 
this  tarpaulin,  the  greatest  living  curiosity — the  only  liv- 
ing specimen  of  man  and  brute  combined,  captured  in 
the  wilds  of  the  Ozark  mountains  in  infancy,  and  reared 
to  his  present  physical  state  on  the  bottle,  which  has  been 
the  only  nourishment  he  was  ever  known  to  take.  For 
countless  centuries,  scientists  have  searched  in  vain  for  a 
living  specimen  of  this  lost  link.  Gentlemen,  it  has  been 
the  good  fortune  of  my  scientific  co-worker.  Professor 
Riley,  to  discover,  hidden  in  the  sand  hills,  this  long- 
sought  specimen.  We  have  a  living  proof  of  the  Darwin- 
ian theory  of  the  origin  of  man,  and  it  is  my  pleasure, 
gentlemen  and  ladies  (if  you  are  ladies),  to  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  prove  to  you,  by  ocular  demonstrations,  the  truth- 
fulness of  my  assertions,  for  the  small  sum  of  one  iron 
dollar — four  quarters,  two  halves,  or  ten  dimes  turn  the 
trick,  and,  while  I  pass  the  hat  around.  Professor  Riley 
will  take  the  pole  and  stir  up  this  monstrosity." 

Kinch  would  then  stagger  around  to  the  ofif-side  and 
proceed  to  stir  up  the  living  specimen  by  vigorously  prod- 
ding him,  in  the  mid-section,  with  a  broom  stick.  The 
sports  would  "chip  in,"  and  soon  the  necessary  dollar  was 
raised,  the  tarpaulin  would  be  removed,  and  the  fun 
would  begin.  Bobby  would  order  a  "whisky  sour"  for 
himself  and  Kinch,  and  they  would  slowly  sip  the  nectar, 
in  plain  view  of  poor  parched  Dalton,  who  would  plead 
for  just  a  taste. 

After  going  through  this  program  at  several  of  the 
booze  resorts,  Dalton  became  frantic  with  thirst — as  crazy 

—227— 


as  a  loon.  Bobby  was  deaf  to  his  pleadings  for  a  long 
while;  in  fact,  he  didn't  relent  until  the  last  saloon  had 
been  worked.  Then,  in  a  maudlin  tone,  he  ordered  Kinch 
to  feed  the  specimen.  Kinch  had  an  empty  tobacco  bucket 
handy,  and  a  small  force  pump  with  hose  attached.  Turn- 
ing this  on  poor  Dalton,  he  soused  him  with  several 
buckets  of  water. 

The  performance  then  closed,  and  Bobby  and  Kinch 
mounted  the  wagon  and  started  over  the  "dead  line" 
with  their  living  curiosity.  Their  frequent  libations  of 
"lemon  sours"  had  all  but  knocked  them  out,  and  they 
were  much  worse  off  than  Dalton,  who,  through  their 
heroic  treatment,  was  now  in  a  fairly  sober  condition.  In 
crossing  the  railroad  track,  Dalton  worked  a  bottom 
board  loose  and  dropped  to  the  road,  the  wheels  miracu- 
lously missed  him,  and  he  got  up  none  the  worse  for  the 
drop.  Bobby  and  Kinch  were  slowly  plodding  along,  ig- 
norant of  Dalton's  escape,  when,  suddenly,  they  were 
brought  to  a  realization  of  the  situation  by  a  bombard- 
ment of  rocks,  at  short  range,  from  Dalton.  In  dodging 
the  missies  so  ruthlessly  hurled  at  them,  they  lost  their 
balance,  and  both  fell  off  the  wagon,  and  the  mules  pro- 
ceeded leisurely  on  their  way  to  their  barn. 

Bobby  had  thoughtfully  provided  himself  with  a 
bottle  of  whisky,  from  the  proceeds  of  the  show,  and, 
instantly  regaining  his  feet,  he  produced  the  bottle  and 
called  for  an  armistice.  Holding  the  bottle  aloof,  he 
served  notice  on  Dalton  that,  if  hostilities  did  not  cease 
immediately,  he  would  place  the  bottle  in  range  of  the 
flying  missies,  and  there  would  be  a  wanton  waste  of 
valuable  property;  but  if  Dalton  would  call  off  the  at- 
tack, they  would  adjourn  to  the  Green  Front  and  proper- 
ly appropriate  the  contents  of  the  bottle  in  their  usual 
good  old  convivial  way.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  hostili- 
ties ceased  at  once,  and  a  happy  reconciliation  was  effected 
aiiiong  the  three. 

Of  a  somewhat  different  nature  from  the  treatment 
—228— 


accorded  Dalton,  but  equally  heroic,  was  a  "Dodge  City 
Keeley  Cure,"  administered  to  one  of  the  convivial  citi- 
zens. 

In  the  bright,  halcyon  days  of  Dodge  City,  there 
dv^elt  a  lavi^yer  in  our  midst,  v^ho  v^as  quite  badly  crip- 
pled, but  he  had  a  bright  mind  and  v^as  a  good  lav^yer. 
He,  unfortunately,  v^as  addicted  to  the  liquor  habit,  and 
his  earnings  were  spent  for  whisky.  He  neglected  his 
wife  and  children,  and  his  conduct  was  such  as  to  be- 
come a  disgrace  to  the  civilization  of  Dodge  City,  so  the 
boys  concluded  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  this  lawyer  was  drink- 
ing heavily,  in  one  of  the  principal  and  most  public  sa- 
loons in  the  town,  on  Front  Street,  where  everyone  could 
see  inside,  as  they  passed,  as  there  was  a  door  on  each 
street,  the  saloon  being  on  the  corner  of  two  streets. 

The  fellows  that  decided  to  administer  this  dose  of  the 
"Dodge  City  Keeley  Cure"  to  the  lawyer,  waited  until  he 
was  surcharged  with  booze,  which  they  knew  would  soon 
be  accomplished.  He  attempted  to  leave  the  bar,  but  fell 
in  a  drunken  stupor.  The  boys  then  procured  a  coffin, 
attired  him  in  a  conventional  shroud,  prepared  him  as 
carefully  as  though  they  were  preparing  him  for  the  long 
sleep,  except  embalming  him,  powdered  his  features  to 
give  him  the  ghastly  appearance  of  death,  tide  his  jaws 
together,  and  then  placed  him  in  the  coffin  and  placed 
the  coffin  on  a  table  between  the  two  doors,  where  he  lay 
"in  state",  and  in  view  of  passersby. 

Many  persons  thought  he  was  really  dead  and  pla- 
carded him  with  these  emotional  and  reverential  lines: 

"Judge  Burns  is  dead,  that  good  old  soul. 

We  ne'er  shall  see  him  more. 

We  never  more  shall  see  his  face, 

Nor  hear  his  gentle  roar  (in  police  court),  saying, 

^Guilty,  your  Honor!' " 

He  remained  in  the  coffin,  in  full  view,  for  several 

hours  before  he  awakened.  He  was  a  hideous  sight,  and, 

—229— 


after  looking  in  the  mirror,  he  went  home  completely  dis- 
gusted with  himself,  sobered  up,  and  was  never  known 
to  take  a  drink  in  Dodge  City  afterwards.  He  became 
one  of  our  most  respected  citizens,  and  held  several  offices 
of  honor  and  trust.  This  was  a  profitable  lesson  to  him, 
and  proved  very  beneficial  to  his  family  and  the  com- 
munity. 

While  the  above  is  highly  recommended  to  those 
needing  the  Keeley  cure,  it  is  not  guaranteed  to  cure  all 
cases.  It  depends  on  the  mental  and  physical  make-up  of 
the  individual.  We  tried  the  same  treatment  on  a  prom- 
inent hotel  man,  the  best  landlord  Dodge  City  ever  had, 
but  it  was  not  successful  in  his  case.  When  he  recovered, 
he  jumped  out  of  his  coffin,  shook  off  his  winding  sheet, 
and  proceeded  to  the  bar,  with  an  invitation  to  all  the 
boys  to  have  a  drink. 

Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,  and,  to  illustrate,  the 
following  story  of  early  days  in  Dodge  is  related.  Every 
word  of  this  is  positively  true. 

In  the  last  palmy  days  of  Dodge,  when  the  end  of  her 
magnificent  career  of  wealth,  gambling,  dance  halls, 
gilded  houses  of  ill  fame,  fascinating  music,  and  the 
quick,  sharp  bark  of  the  six-shooter  were  about  over,  there 
still  clung  to  her  a  shadow  of  her  past  greatness.  Mr. 
Charles  Heins  was  one  of  the  leaders,  and  what  a  great 
caterer  he  was,  to  the  palates  of  those  who  had  wealth 
and  were  willing  to  purchase.  There  was  nothing  too 
good  or  too  rich  for  his  larder,  and  he  found  customers, 
lots  of  them,  at  outrageous  prices  for  the  goods,  of  course. 
Among  other  things  of  the  past,  he  still  kept  up  his  bar 
and  magnificent  stock  of  liquors,  although  to  do  so  was 
almost  certain  imprisonment.  He  hid  his  bar,  from  the 
officers  of  the  law,  in  every  conceivable  place,  and  the 
ingenuity  he  displayed  in  keeping  out  of  their  clutches 
was  wonderful.  At  last  he  placed  his  bar  in  a  dark  cellar, 
but  he  had  exhausted  his  supply  of  barkeepers,  so  he  had 

—230— 


to  resort  to  most  anyone,  until  he  got  a  Frenchman  who 
could  speak  no  English. 

The  gang  soon  got  on  to  the  ignorance  of  the  bar- 
keeper, and  played  many  a  prank  on  him,  and  they  final- 
ly got  to  passing  counterfeit  dollars,  some  a  good  imita- 
tion made  of  lead.  Now  Skinner  and  Kelly  had  opened 
up  an  opposition  joint,  around  the  corner,  a  few  doors 
below  Heins'  place.  Heins  had  a  natural  hatred  for  Skin- 
ner, and  when  he  opened  up  in  opposition,  Heins'  hatred 
was  much  greater. 

By  the  way.  Skinner  set  a  fine  "Dutch  lunch",  every 
day,  from  eleven  o'clock  to  two  p.m.  This  proceeding 
Heins  hated  cordially.  Once  in  awhile  I  would  go  down 
to  Skinner  and  Kelly's  for  my  lunch  and  a  glass  of  beer, 
instead  of  going  home  for  my  dinner.  One  rainy,  cold 
day,  I  started  for  my  Dutch  lunch  and  glass  of  beer  about 
one  o'clock,  and  saw  Heins  standing  in  his  door,  tossing 
up  a  counterfeit  silver  dollar.  I  said  to  Heins:  "Give 
me  that,  and  I  will  go  down  cellar  and  pass  it  on  your 
Frenchman."  "Not  on  your  life,"  he  said,  "The  French- 
man has  had  lots  of  them  passed  on  him,  and  this  is  one 
of  his  take-ins."  "Well,"  I  said,  "I  will  take  it  down  and 
pass  it  on  Bill  Skinner."  "My  God!"  he  said,  "if  you  will 
do  that,  come  back  and  I  will  set  up  the  drinks  for  the 
whole  house." 

Kelly  had  been  tending  bar  while  Skinner  went  to 
dinner,  and,  just  as  I  got  in,  Kelly  was  shifting  his  bar 
apron  and  handing  it  to  Skinner  to  put  on,  preparatory 
for  Skinner  to  go  on  duty  behind  the  bar.  I  noticed  that 
all  the  Dutch  lunch  was  gone,  and  I  said:  "What  has 
become  of  your  lunch?"  Kelly  spoke  up  and  said,  "Why, 
old  John  Shults  came  in,  wet  and  almost  frozen  to  death, 
said  he  had  beat  his  way  from  Garden  City  to  Dodge  in 
a  leaky  box  car,  and  was  as  wet  as  a  drowned  rat.  He  got 
a  few  glasses  of  beer,  and  ate  everything  in  sight,  but 
still  said  he  was  hungry,  and  inquired  for  a  restaurant.  I 

—231— 


don't  suppose  he  had  eaten  anything  since  he  left  here  last 
night." 

I  invited  the  house  up,  and  they  all  took  beer,  and  I 
handed  Skinner  the  counterfeit.  He  served  the  beer,  and, 
w^ithout  looking  at  the  dollar,  threw^  it  on  the  back  bar 
v^ith  the  day's  receipts,  and  gave  me  the  change.  I  sat 
and  talked  v^^ith  them  for  aw^hile,  and  invited  the  crowd 
to  drink  again,  then  w^ent  back  to  Heins,  who  was  tickled 
to  death  about  it,  and  we  went  below  and  got  our  beer. 
Just  before  starting  back  up,  however,  the  bell  boy  came 
after  Heins,  saying  there  was  a  Dutchman  upstairs  who 
insisted  on  seeing  him  on  particular  business.  Heins  said, 
"Stay,  and  I  will  be  back  soon." 

Now  it  seemed  the  night  before,  a  short  time  before 
the  passenger  went  west,  John  Shults  cam  in  pretty  full 
of  booze,  as  was  his  normal  condition  when  in  Dodge 
City,  and  asked  Charley  Heins  to  change  a  five  dollar  bill. 
Heins  had  four  good  silver  dollars  and  this  same  counter- 
feit dollar.  Heins  said  to  Shults,  "I  can't  do  it — haven't 
got  the  change."  "Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  said  Shults,  "I 
see  five  dollars  in  your  drawer."  "Yes,  but,"  Heins  said, 
"one  of  those  is  counterfeit."  Of  course,  Shults  thought 
he  was  joking,  and  said,  "Heinsy,  I  know  you  would  not 
give  me  a  counterfeit."  Heins  replied,  "No,  that  is  the 
reason  I  can't  change  your  bill."  Shults  said,  "Give  it 
to  me  anyway;  now  I  know  you  would  not  cheat  me." 
Heins  said,  "Well,  if  you  insist  on  it,  here  goes,"  and  gave 
him  the  four  good  dollars  and  the  counterfeit.  You  see, 
Shults  had  made  several  trips  to  Garden,  having  business 
with  the  land  office  there,  and  he  had  learned  to  work  the 
conductor.  The  fare  to  Garden  was  one  dollar  and  a  half, 
and  Shults  would  give  the  conductor  a  dollar  and  swear 
that  was  all  the  money  he  had,  and  he  was  such  an 
"onery"  looking  cuss,  the  conductor  would  believe  him 
and  take  him  on.    This  was  the  reason  Shults  was  so 

—232— 


anxious  to  get  the  bill  changed;  he  would  save  half  a 
dollar. 

Heins  came  back  laughing  and  tickled  to  death.  He 
said  to  the  bar  keeper,  "Set  them  up  to  the  house  again, 
for  this  is  too  good;  I  have  heard  from  the  counterfeit 
already."  When  he  went  up,  John  Shults  was  there,  hold- 
ing the  same  old  counterfeit  in  his  hand,  and  he  said: 
"Hensy,  you  know  last  night  you  gave  me  a  counterfeit, 
didn't  you?"  Heins  said,  "Yes,  but  John,  a  little  after 
you  gave  me  the  bill  to  change,  you  came  back,  and  I  took 
back  the  counterfeit  and  gave  you  a  good  dollar  in  its 
place,  didn't  I?"  "Yes,  but  Heinsy,  how  the  h—  did  I 
get  dot?"  showing  the  counterfeit  in  his  hand.  "Heinsy, 
there  could  not  have  been  two  of  them,  could  there?" 
"No,  John,  only  one,  only  one."  "Well,  Heinsy,  you 
couldn't  give  me  a  good  one  for  this  now,  could  you?" 
"No,  John,  I  could  not."  "Well,  Heins,  what's  de  mad- 
der wid  it,  anyhow?  I  know  you  gave  me  dis  dollar." 
"Yes,  I  did,  but  I  gave  you  a  good  one  in  place  of  it." 
And  Heins  said  he  begged  so  hard  to  have  one  that  he  had 
to  leave  him,  or  he  was  afraid  he  would  give  him  a  good 
dollar. 

It  seems,  after  Heins  changed  the  bill  for  Shults,  the 
night  before,  Shults  went  down  to  Skinner's  joint  and 
ordered  a  glass  of  beer,  offering  this  same  counterfeit 
dollar  in  payment.  Skinner  was  very  angry,  because  he 
had  been  a  victim  of  counterfeit  dollars  himself,  and  he 
took  his  knife  and  put  a  private  mark  on  the  dollar,  and 
gave  it  back  to  Shults,  with  a  big  cussing,  and  warned 
him  not  to  try  to  pass  one  on  him  again  or  he  would  beat 
him  to  death. 

Kelly  had  been  tending  bar  while  Skinner  went  to 

dinner,  as  I  said  before,  and,  when  I  left,  Skinner  began 

to  look  over  the  receipts  of  the  day,  on  the  back  of  the 

bar,  and  discovered  this  counterfeit.   He  at  once  blamed 

Kelly,  and  said:    "Here,  Kelly,  you  have  taken  in  a  bad 

—233— 


dollar."  "Yes,"  said  Kelly,  "that  is  so.  I  am  not  fit  to 
do  business  any  more  in  here;  I  make  a  failure  of  every- 
thing." "Who  was  in  here?"  said  Skinner.  "Why," 
Kelly  said,  "No  one;  it  is  a  very  bad  day,  and  there  has 
been  no  trade."  "Why,"  Skinner  said,  "who  ate  up  all 
that  lunch?"  Kelly  said,  "By  the  hokey,  old  John  Shults, 
and  he  gave  me  a  silver  dollar."  Skinner  said,  "Where 
did  he  go  ?  I  want  to  get  at  him.  He  is  the  drunken  bloat 
who  tried  to  pass  in  on  me  last  night.  It  is  the  same 
dollar;  see  where  I  marked  it?  And  I  told  him  then  I 
would  beat  him  to  death,  if  ever  he  attempted  to  pass  it 
on  us  again.  Where  did  you  say  he  went?"  "Over  to 
your  brother's  restaurant  upstairs,"  replied  Kelly. 

Skinner  rushed  out  without  coat  or  hat,  and  caught 
Shults  just  as  he  was  about  to  get  down  from  one  of  those 
very  high  chairs,  they  have  for  counter  lunches.  He 
caught  him  by  the  back  of  the  collar  and  hurled  him  vio- 
lently again  the  floor.  Before  the  man  could  get  up. 
Skinner  was  on  him,  kicking  and  stomping  him  with 
both  feet.  Shults  was  helpless,  and  so  completely  taken  by 
surprise  it  paralyzed  him,  but  this  did  not  stop  Skinner, 
who  kicked,  stomped,  and  beat  until  he  was  worn  out. 
The  beating  he  got  would  have  killed  a  common  man,  but 
old  John  was  as  tough  as  a  pine  knot  and  soon  got  over 
it.  They  say  it  was  amusing  to  hear  John  holler  and 
plead.  "Ho  (lam) !  (Ho  (lam) !"  he  said.  "You  got  the 
wrong  man!  I  do  nottings  to  you!  Why  you  do  dot? 
Ho  (lam)!  Ho  (lam)!  Stop  it!  I  quit  you;  stop  it!  I 
tell  you,  I  quit  you!"  Skinner  would  answer,  "You  see 
that  dollar?"  "Yes,  I  see;  I  know  where  you  get  him." 
"You  know  where  I  get  him  ?"  And  he  would  go  after  him 
again,  and,  when  he  was  completely  worn  out,  he  handed 
Shults  the  dollar  and  called  for  a  good  one,  which  request 
Shults  was  too  glad  to  comply  with,  for  fear  of  another 
beating.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  if  Shults  had  only  had  the 

courage  and  had  known  it,  he  could  have  turned  in  and 

—234— 


beat  Skinner  just  as  hard,  as  Skinner  acknowledged  after- 
wards that  he  had  completely  worn  himself  out. 

These  stories,  in  connection  with  other  passages  in 
this  book,  will  give  some  idea  of  the  position  strong  drink 
occupied  in  the  early  life  of  southwestern  Kansas,  and  the 
almost  universal  popularity  which  the  social  glass  enjoyed. 
Eventually,  it  was  my  fortune  to  become  representative 
of  this  section  in  the  state  legislature,  in  which  I  was 
serving  when  the  prohibition  bill  was  introduced,  in  1881. 
I  must  say  that  I  think  that  prohibition  has  proved  a 
good  thing  for  the  state,  but,  at  that  time,  with  such 
constituents  behind  me,  I  could  not  consistently  support 
the  temperance  bill.  I  soon  saw,  however,  that  it  was 
going  through  and  that  it  was  useless  to  fight  it,  so  I  con- 
tented myself  with  having  the  consoling  "last  word," 
on  the  subject,  my  short  speech  being  the  last  made  before 
the  bill  was  put  to  vote.  My  remarks  were  not  intended 
as  argument,  but  merely  as  a  mildly  satirical  fling  at  the 
opposing  faction,  and  put  a  flavor  of  the  burlesque  upon 
the  situation.  But  the  threat  to  secede,  while  not  meant 
seriously,  was  not  without  point,  as  the  territory  in 
sympathy  with  that  I  represented,  forming  one  section  for 
judicial  purposes,  comprising  thirty-eight  of  our  present 
counties.  The  "Topeka  Daily  Commonwealth,"  of  Feb- 
ruary i6th,  1881,  says,  "Honorable  R.  M.  Wright  delivered 
the  following  witty  speech  on  the  temperance  bill  in  the 
House  yesterday,"  and  reports  it  thus: 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Committee: 
"I  feel  that  I  would  be  doing  my  constituents  a  grave 
injustice  were  I  to  remain  silent  at  this  most  portentous 
juncture  in  the  history  of  our  legislation.  I  cannot  re- 
frain, therefore,  from  raising  my  feeble  voice  in  protest 
against  this  monstrous  measure.  I  do  not  oppose  this 
bill  because  of  my  own  love  for  the  distilled  nectar  of 
the  cornfield,  nor  yet  for  the  purple  ambrosia  of  the  vine- 
yard. I  admit  that  I  like  a  glass  of  either  now  and  then, 

—235— 


but  I  am  not  a  slave  to  the  demon  of  the  cup,  and  I  can 
look  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red  without  necessarily 
beiUjg^  bitten  by  the  adder  which  is  alleged  to  be  lurking 
at  the  bottom  of  the  said  utensil.  In  fact,  Mr.  Chairman, 
so  great  is  my  virtue  in  this  direction,  that  I  have  gone 
three,  aye  four  days,  without  my  whisky,  and  I  am  proud 
to  relate  without  any  special  disturbing  effects  upon  my 
physiological  structure,  but  it  is  a  dangerous  experiment, 
and  should  not  be  tried  too  often.  Sir,  I  have  been  a  resi- 
dent of  this  great  state  for  seventeen  years  and  I  have 
learned  to  know  it,  and  to  know  it  is  to  love  it.  I  know 
no  other  home.  I  love  its  broad  prairies,  its  rich  soil,  its 
pure  air,  its  beautiful  streams,  and  last,  but  not  least, 
its  liberal  people.  But  alas,  sir,  if  this  bill  becomes  a  law, 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  cease  to  be  one  of  the  citizens  of  this 
proud  commonwealth,  as  the  county  which  I  have  the 
honor  to  represent  on  this  floor  threatens  to  secede  and 
take  with  it  all  the  unorganized  counties  attached  to  it 
for  judicial  purposes.  Now,  sir,  under  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances of  their  situation,  have  they  not  a  just  and 
equitable  cause  for  their  professed  action  .^^  Sir,  this  com- 
mittee well  knows,  or  if  there  are  any  of  its  members  who 
do  not  I  deplore  their  ignorance,  that  the  section  of  the 
country  in  which  I  live  is  essentially  the  habitation  of 
that  most  poisonous  of  all  reptiles  of  the  genus  Crotalus, 
or  in  common  parlance,  as  he  is  familiarly  known  to  the 
cowboys — the  rattlesnake.  This  insect,  gentlemen  of  the 
committee,  is  not  the  phantasmagorial  creature,  if  I  may 
use  the  term,  which  perhaps  many  of  you  have  seen  when 
you  have  "histed"  to  much  rock  and  rye  on  board,  but 
a  genuine  tangible  nomad  of  the  prairie,  whose  ponderous 
jaws,  when  once  fastened  on  the  calf  of  your  leg,  you  will 
realize  is  no  creature  of  the  disordered  brain.  This  octo- 
pod,  this  old  man  of  the  prairie,  if  you  will  permit  me  to 
indulge  in  a  metaphor,  has  all  his  life  obeyed  the  spiritual 
injunction  (I  am  sorry  I  have  not  my  little  pocket  Bible 

—236— 


here  to  prove  this,  as  many  of  the  members  of  this  com- 
mittee have  done  in  discussing  this  question)  to  increase 
and  multiply,  and  accordingly  he  multiplyeth  extraordi- 
narily, and  he  doeth  this  without  irrigation  either,  and 
in  fact  every  farmer  has  an  abundant  crop  v^ithout  the 
trouble  of  cultivation.  Now^,  sir,  the  only  known  pre- 
ventive, the  only  known  antidote  to  the  venom  of  this 
venomous  beast,  is  pure  unadulterated  corn  juice,  vul- 
garly called  whisky.  Aye,  sir,  men  who  have  imbibed 
freely  of  the  corn  juice  have  been  bitten,  and  the  snake 
has  always  been  known  to  die  instead  of  the  man,  so  you 
see  it  is  not  only  a  sure  cure  for  the  bite  but  is  a  speedy 
means  of  getting  rid  of  the  snake  also. 

"Ponder,  oh,  gentlemen  of  the  committee,  and  hesi- 
tate before  you  take  away  from  us  that  which  saves  life. 
Are  you  aware  of  what  you  are  about  to  do?  Do  you 
propose  in  this  arbitrary  manner  not  only  to  deprive  us 
of  a  source  of  solace  but  even  to  take  our  very  lives  ?  My 
people,  sir,  will  never  submit,  never  (No  Pinafore  here.) 
(This  was  in  the  days  of  Pinafore.) 

"Now,  sir,  the  only  way  out  of  this  labyrinth  of  pro- 
posed injustice  is  to  exclude  Dodge  City  as  well  as  all 
that  region  west  of  the  one-hundreth  meridian  from  the 
provisions  of  this  bill.  If  you  do  this  it  will  not  only  be 
an  act  of  justice  guaranteed  by  the  constitution  upon 
stern  necessity,  but  will  receive  the  righteous  judgment 
of  all  the  citizens  of  Dodge;  harmony  will  again  prevail 
upon  the  border,  the  scouts  will  be  called  in,  and  future 
generations  of  cowboys  will  arise  and  call  you  blessed." 

In  the  spring  of  1885,  preparations  were  made  for  the 
enforcement  of  the  Prohibitory  Liquor  Law  in  Dodge 
City,  and  the  sale  of  eighty  barrels  of  four-year-old  whis- 
ky, besides  other  liquors  and  bar  fixtures  was  announced  by 
Henry  Sturm,  the  well-known  purveyor  of  the  city.  The 
prohibition  law  put  a  different  character  on  liquor  sales, 
many  of  the  saloons  being  transformed  into  "drug  stores." 

—237— 


Chapter  XIII. 

Resorts  Other  than  Saloons,  and  Pastimes 
Other  than  Drinking 

T  TNDER  the  heading,  "A  Bloody  Prize  Fight  in  Dodge 
^  City,"  the  Dodge  City  Times  of  June  i6th,  1877,  gives 
a  characteristic  account  of  the  thrilHng  encounter  as  fol- 
lows: 

"On  last  Tuesday  morning  the  champion  prize  fight 
of  Dodge  City  was  indulged  in  by  Messrs.  Nelson  Whit- 
man and  the  noted  Red  Hanley,  familiarly  known  as  'the 
Red  Bird  from  the  South.'  An  indefinite  rumor  had  been 
circulated  in  sporting  circles  that  a  fight  was  to  take 
place,  but  the  time  and  place  was  known  only  to  a  select 
few.  The  sport  took  place  in  front  of  the  Saratoga  saloon 
at  the  silent  hour  of  4:39  a.  m.,  when  the  city  police  were 
retiring  after  the  dance  hall  revelry  had  subsided  and  the 
belles  who  are  in  there  were  off  duty.  Promptly  at  the 
appointed  time,  the  two  candidates  for  championship 
were  at  the  joint.  Colonel  Norton  acted  as  rounder-up  and 
whipper-in  for  both  fighters  while  Bobby  Gill  ably  per- 
formed the  arduous  task  of  healing  and  handling  and 
sponging  off.  Norton  called  time  and  the  ball  opened 
with  some  fine  hits  from  the  shoulder.  Whitman  was  the 
favorite  in  the  pools  but  Red  made  a  brilliant  effort  to  win 
the  champion  belt. 

"During  the  forty-second  round  Red  Hanley  im- 
plored Norton  to  take  Nelson  off  for  a  little  while  till 
he  could  have  time  to  put  his  right  eye  back  where  it 
belonged,  set  his  jawbone  and  have  the  ragged  edge 
trimmed  off  his  ears  where  they  had  been  chewed  the 
worst.  This  was  against  the  rules  of  the  ring  so  Norton 
declined,  encouraging  him  to  bear  it  as  well  as  he  could 
and  squeal  when  he  got  enough.  About  the  sixty-fifth 
round  Red  squealed  unmistakably  and  Whitman  was 

—238— 


declared  winner.  The  only  injury  sustained  by  the  loser 
in  this  fight  were  two  ears  chewed  off,  one  eye  busted 
and  the  other  disabled,  right  cheek  bone  caved  in,  bridge 
of  the  nose  broken,  seven  teeth  knocked  out,  one  jaw- 
bone mashed,  one  side  of  the  tongue  bit  off,  and  several 
other  unimportant  fractures  and  bruises.  Red  retires 
from  the  ring  in  disgust." 

A  shade  worse  than  the  prize  fight  was  a  bout  at 
lap-jacket,  as  described  in  the  "Dodge  City  Times,"  of 
May  1 2th,  1877. 

"We,  yesterday,  witnessed  an  exhibition  of  the  Afri- 
can national  game  of  lap- jacket,  in  front  of  Shulz'  harness 
shop.  The  game  is  played  by  two  colored  men,  who  each 
toe  a  mark  and  whip  each  other  with  bull  whips.  In  the 
contest  yesterday,  Henry  Rogers,  called  Eph,  for  short, 
contended  with  another  darkey  for  the  championship  and 
fifty  cents  prize  money.  They  took  heavy  new  whips, 
from  the  harness  shop,  and  poured  in  the  strokes  pretty 
lively.  Blood  flowed  and  dust  flew  and  the  crowd 
cheered  until  Policeman  Joe  Mason  came  along  and  sus- 
pended the  cheerful  exercise.  In  Africa,  where  this 
pleasant  pastime  is  indulged  in  to  perfection,  the  contest- 
ants strip  to  the  skin,  and  frequently  cut  each  other's 
flesh  open  to  the  bone." 

Dodge  City  is  especially  distinguished  as  the  only 
town  in  the  state,  or  the  whole  United  States,  for  that 
matter,  that  ever  conducted  a  bullfight.  To  use  the 
vernacular  of  the  time,  Dodge  City  "pulled  off"  a  genuine 
bull  fight,  according  to  Mexican  rules  and  regulations, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Driving  Park  and  Fair  Associa- 
tion, on  the  fourth  and  fifth  of  July,  1884.  The  bull- 
fighters were  full-bloods  of  Mexico,  and  the  "Globe" 
mentioned  them  as  "some  of  the  best  citizens  of  the  City 
of  Chihuahua,  Mexico,  and  as  intelligent  a  party  of  men 

as  any  person  would  wish  to  meet.    Their  redeeming  trait 

— 239— 


is  that  they  cannot  be  forced  to  drink  a  drop  of  strong 
Hquor." 

To  give  local  zest  and  character  to  the  occasion,  the 
bulls,  which  were  of  local  origin — untamed  animals  of 
these  plains — were  given  names  purely  provincial,  the 
local  cognomens  of  several  Dodge  citizens  being  evident 
For  instances,  Ringtailed  Snorter,  Cowboy  Killer,  Iron 
Gall,  Lone  Star,  Long  Branch,  Opera,  Ku  Klux,  Sheriff, 
Doc,  Rustler,  Jim,  and  Eat-em  Richard,  were  the  twelve 
male  bovines  to  snort  at  the  red  flag  and  other  means  of 
provoking  anger. 

An  apology  or  explanation  is  given  of  the  bullfight, 
previous  to  the  occurrence,  by  the  manager  in  charge  of 
the  "distinguished  party,"  so-called,  which  he  says  is 
"largely  misconstrued  and  misunderstood.  Instead  of  be- 
ing a  cruel  and  barbarous  proceeding,  it  is  quite  the 
reverse.  While  the  animal  is  provoked  and  tantalized  to 
fury,  no  cruelty  to  the  animal  is  indulged  in;  and  when 
the  animal  is  to  be  dispatched,  it  is  instantly  done,  and 
in  less  cruel  and  tortuous  manner  than  if  a  butcher  had 
slaughtered  one  for  the  block.  The  term,  *bull  fighting,' 
is  wrongly  interpreted." 

The  manner  of  the  bullfight  is  given,  but  the  reader 
is  interested  in  the  event  as  it  signalled  Dodge  City's 
superiority  in  entertainment.  There  were  five  matadors, 
four  on  foot  and  one  on  horseback,  each  dressed  in  gaudy 
costume.  The  weapons  used  were  "bandarillos,"  or  taste- 
fully ornamented  darts,  which  were  placed  on  the 
animal's  neck  and  shoulders,  as  he  would  charge  upon  the 
matadors.  The  attractive  garbs  of  the  bullfighters,  in- 
censed the  bulls,  and  the  fight  was  earnest,  each  bull 
being  dispatched  in  order.  The  account  closes  the  scene 
with  the  statement  that  the  excitement  was  now  at  its 
height.  An  infuriated  bull  and  a  slightly  injured  matador, 

whose  blood  was  up  to  fever  heat,  made  short  work  of  the 

—240— 


gS§^llS>gppl:«»ilil 


SouLE  College 


closing  exercises.  With  much  parleying,  the  animal  was 
dealt  a  fatal  blow. 

During  the  excitement  just  before  our  great  bull- 
fight, the  only  one,  as  has  been  said,  ever  to  take  place 
in  the  United  States,  the  boys  were  cutting  out  and  try- 
ing the  bulls,  to  find  which  would  be  the  most  vicious 
and  the  best  fighters.  A  gentleman,  whom  we  will  call 
Brown,  said  it  was  all  nonsense  about  shaking  a  red  flag 
in  a  bull's  face;  that  he  knew  it  would  not  make  him  fight 
because  he  had  tried  it.  A  gentleman,  overhearing  the 
remark,  said:  "Brown,  I  will  bet  you  a  fifty-dollar  suit 
of  clothes  you  can't  shake  a  red  rag  in  a  bull's  face 
without  his  fighting,  and  you  have  the  privilege  of  select- 
ing the  most  docile  bull  in  this  lot  of  fighters." 

The  bet  was  soon  made,  and  Brown  got  a  red  shirt 
and  climbed  down  into  the  corral.  The  bull  was  looking 
as  calm  as  a  summer  morning,  and  Brown  went  towards 
the  animal,  keeping  the  red  shirt  well  behind  him.  As  he 
came  close  to  the  brute,  he  suddenly  produced  the  shirt 
and  flirted  it  in  the  bull's  face.  The  beast  jumped  back 
in  astonishment  and  kept  his  eye  on  Brown  while  Brown 
waved  the  old  vermilion  garment  vigorously.  Then  the 
bull  shook  his  head  several  times,  as  if  he  declined  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  that  business,  and  Brown  turned 
towards  us  and  put  his  thumb  to  his  nose  and  made  a  sign 
of  victory. 

Just  then  an  idea  seemed  to  strike  that  bull.  He  put 

his  head  down  and  moved  swiftly  forward.   Brown,  at 

first,  thought  there  had  been  an  earthquake.    Upon  his 

descent,  he  thought  he  would  try  to  run,  but  the  old 

long  horn  was  inserted  in  the  seat  of  his  trousers,  and 

again  he  went  up,  high  enough  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view 

of  the  surrounding  country.  On  the  twenty-fifth  descent, 

he  fell  on  the  other  side  of  the  corral,  and  we  picked  him 

up.   His  mouth  was  full  of  grass  and  sand.    We  asked 

him  if  his  views  about  bulls  had  undergone  any  change; 

—241— 


but  he  walked  silently  along.  We  wanted  to  know  how 
he  enjoyed  the  scenery,  the  last  time  he  went  up;  but  he 
would  not  say.  He  merely  went  into  the  cook-house, 
filled  up  both  barrels  of  his  gun  with  old  nails  and  screws 
and  scrap  iron,  and  he  went  to  interview  that  bull. 

Hokey-pokey  (or  in  scientific  phrase.  Bisulphite  of 
Carbon),  was  the  means  of  great  sport  among  the  gang  in 
early  days.  If  the  stuff  was  applied  to  any  animal  with 
hair,  it  had  a  wonderful  effect.  For  the  time  being,  the 
animal  just  went  crazy,  and  it  seemed  the  more  sleepy 
and  good  for  nothing  the  horse  was,  the  better  he  would 
perform  under  the  effects  of  his  medicine.  All  you  had 
to  do  was  to  drop  a  few  drops  on  the  horse,  any  place, 
and  almost  instantly  it  would  take  effect. 

One  of  our  most  prominent  lawyers  used  to  drive, 
to  a  fine  buggy,  one  of  the  most  dilapidated  pieces  of 
horseflesh.  The  boys  would  josh  this  lawyer  about  driv- 
ing such  a  woe-begone,  sleepy  animal.  They  thought  they 
would  give  him  a  lesson,  and  maybe  he  would  take  the 
hint  and  get  a  good  horse.  The  old  horse's  name  was  Dick. 
Mr.  Lawyer  hitched  Dick  in  front  of  his  office  one  day, 
and  the  boys  were  ready.  They  said:  "Colonel,  what  is 
the  matter  with  Dick?  He  acts  so  funny — looks  like  he 
is  going  mad.  Has  he  been  exposed  to  the  bite  of  a  mad 
dog?"  Just  then  the  circus  began.  Old  Dick  went  up 
in  the  air,  came  down,  kicking  first  one  foot,  then  both, 
then  all  together,  and  away  he  would  go,  Mr.  Lawyer  hold 
of  his  bridle,  holloing,  "Whoa,  Dick!  Whoa  Dick!  What 
is  the  matter  with  you,  Dick?"  But  Dick  paid  no  heed. 
He  just  kept  at  it  all  the  harder  until  he  had  kicked 
himself  out  of  the  shafts,  and  then  kicked  the  harness 
all  to  pieces,  and  cut  all  sorts  of  shines  and  capers.  He 
would  lift  the  lawyer  right  off  his  feet,  until  he  had  to 
let  go  the  bridle  and  give  old  Dick  full  sway,  and  I  think 
he  was  one  of  the  most  astonished  men  I  ever  saw.  But  he 

-—242— 


never  got  on  to  their  racket  until  the  gang  presented  him 
with  a  new  set  of  harness  and  told  him  the  joke. 

I  have  seen  cowboys,  who  prided  themselves  on  their 
horsemanship,  ride  into  town,  and  the  boys  would  dope 
a  horse.  The  rider  would  stay  with  him  a  long  time,  but, 
at  last,  he  had  to  go.  Never  yet  did  I  see  a  man  who 
could  retain  his  seat  on  a  doped  horse. 

A  poor  little  traveling  preacher  rode  into  town,  one 
Sunday,  and  rode  up  to  a  crowd  that  had  gathered  on  the 
street,  on  account  of  some  excitement.  Some  little  urchin 
got  to  him  with  the  hokey-pokey,  and  away  went  that 
little  preacher.  The  horse  bolted  right  into  the  crowd, 
scattering  it  right  and  left,  and  kicking  and  squalling  and 
bawling.  First,  the  preachers'  stovepipe  hat  went  up 
into  the  air;  next,  his  saddle-bags;  and  then,  the  poor 
fellow  himself  went  sprawling  over  the  pony's  head.  He 
got  up  and  brushed  the  dust  off,  saying,  "Some  ungodly 
person  has  done  something  to  my  horse!" 

One  day  a  real,  typical  horseman  rode  into  town,  on 

one  of  the  finest  saddlers  I  ever  saw.    The  man  on  this 

horse  was  a  perfect  picture  of  a  centaur.    He  rode  up  to 

where  a  horse  auction  was  in  progress  and  said:    "Mr. 

Auctioneer,  I  am  going  east  and  have  no  use  for  this 

horse,  or  I  would  not  part  with  him.   He  is  all  that  he 

appears  to  be,  has  all  the  gaits  of  a  saddler,  is  sound  as  a 

dollar,  and  gentle  as  a  dog.    He  never  ran  away,  will 

stand  without  hitching,  and  was  never  known  to  buck, 

plunge,  or  kick."    He  rode  up  and  down  the  street  a 

time  or  two,  and  came  back,  and  then  they  doped  the 

horse.  Now,  of  all  the  running  and  bucking  and  pitching 

and  kicking  you  ever  saw,  that  horse  did  it,  right  there. 

The  man  stayed  with  him  a  long  time,  and  the  gang 

began  to  think,  "Well,  here  is  a  man  that  a  horse  can't 

throw."   But  just  then,  off  he  went,  and  a  little  further 

on  the  horse  stood  still.    The  man  caught  him,  led  him 

back,  and  apologized  to  the  crowd.    He  said:    "Gentle- 

—243— 


men,  I  beg  your  pardon,  f  lied  to  you,  but  upon  my 
word  I  never  saw  this  horse  act  badly  before,  in  any 
way.  I  withdraw  him  from  the  market.  The  horse  is  not 
for  sale."  I  don't  think  this  man  ever  did  know  what  ailed 
the  horse. 

There  was  an  old  man  who  picked  bones  and  hauled 
them  to  Dodge.  He  had  two  very  old,  bony  horses.  They 
did  not  seem  to  have  any  life  whatever,  and  the  gang 
thought  they  would  have  fun  out  of  the  old  man,  so  they 
asked  him  if  his  horses  were  for  sale.  Well,  he  would 
sell  the  horse  but  didn't  want  to  sell  the  mare.  They 
asked  him  if  they  had  ever  been  locoed  or  would  eat 
the  loco  weed.  "No,  indeed,  sir!  my  horses  were  never 
known  to  touch  it."  "You  have  no  objection  to  our 
trying  them?"  "No,  indeed,  sir;  try  them  all  you  want 
to."  So  they  took  the  horse  out  of  the  wagon,  and  some 
one  held  a  bunch  of  loco  weed  to  the  horse's  head  while 
another  applied  the  hokey-poky.  Now  that  old  horse, 
like  all  the  balance,  just  went  crazy,  and  some  one  got 
around  and  applied  the  medicine  to  the  mare,  also,  who 
was  still  hitched  to  the  wagon.  She  took  wagon,  harness 
and  everything  along  with  her  kicked  out  the  front  end 
of  the  wagon,  and  they  liked  never  to  have  got  her 
stopped,  the  way  she  turned  that  wagon  around.  The 
gang  gave  the  old  fellow  a  ten  dollar  bill,  and  he  collected 
his  scattered  pieces  of  wagon  and  went  after  more  bones, 
wondering  what  could  have  ailed  the  horses  and  made 
him  lose  a  good  sale. 

The  gang  surely  had  great  sport,  until  things  got  so 
bad  there  was  an  ordinance  passed,  prohibiting  the  sale  of 
hokey-pokey. 

One  day  two  dagoes  came  to  town,  leading  a  very 
large  bear.  The  bear  sure  was  a  good  one,  and  performed 
many  cute  tricks.  For  such  a  tremendous  animal,  he  was 
very  active.  When  the  gang  had  seen  all  they  wanted  of 
the  bear's  tricks,  they  hokey-pokied  him,  and  we  thought 

—244— 


he  was  active  before  but  we  hadn't  seen  any  of  his  activ- 
ity. That  bear  rolled  and  ran  and  squalled  just  like  a 
human,  and  he  cut  up  all  manner  of  didoes.  The  Italians 
tried  their  best,  at  first,  to  soothe  down  his  pain  by 
petting  him,  but  the  bear  would  have  none  of  it  and 
carried  on  so  outrageously  that  the  Italians  got  afraid 
of  him  and  retreated  to  a  safe  distance.  Every  once  in 
awhile  that  bear  would  spy  them  and  rush  towards  them, 
seeking  relief,  I  suppose,  but  when  the  dagoes  would  see 
him  coming  with  his  mouth  wide  open  and  his  eyes  roll- 
ing they  would  turn  and  fly.  They  were  afraid  of  his 
company,  thinking  he  had  gone  mad.  Well,  when  the 
effects  wore  off,  Mr.  Bear  looked  pretty  sheepish,  and  the 
dagoes  caught  him  by  the  chain  and  led  him  off  out  of 
sight  into  a  cut,  got  a  railroad  tie,  and  the  way(  they 
rubbed  that  bear's  stomach,  one  on  each  side,  until  the 
sweat  poured  down  their  faces!  I  don't  suppose  they 
ever  worked  so  hard  before.  You  see,  they  thought  the 
bear  had  eaten  something  that  did  not  agree  with  him 
and  he  had  the  stomachache.  When  they  got  tired  rub- 
ing,  they  brought  him  back,  but  Mr.  Bear,  as  soon  as 
he  saw  the  crowd,  jerked  away  and  climbed  a  telegraph 
pole  and  sat  there  among  the  wires  until  the  crowd  dis- 
persed. He  had  more  sense  than  his  owners — he  would 
not  be  hokey-pokied  again. 

Among  the  many  favorite  amusements,  pastimes, 
and  fun  of  the  gang  was  to  scare  a  greenhorn  with  a  big 
stuffed  bull  snake.  A  party  who  kept  a  large  establish- 
ment to  entertain  the  thirsty  and  gratify  the  sports  with 
billiards,  cards,  dice,  and,  in  fact,  it  was  a  great  and 
favorite  resort  for  the  lovers  of  fun;  also,  in  his  back  yard 
he  had  a  large  wire  cage,  filled  with  big  rattlesnakes. 
More  than  a  dozen  of  these  venomous  reptiles  occupied 
the  cage  and  lived  in  peace  and  harmony,  up  to  the  fatal 
day  which  I  shall  tell  about  farther  on. 

Now  then,  it  was  the  duty  of  some  loafer  or  hanger- 
—245— 


on  around  the  saloon  to  go  out  and  hunt  up  a  greenhorn, 
invite  him  to  a  drink,  then  tell  him  about  the  big  den 
of  rattlers,  and  take  him  out  and  show  him  the  snakes, 
relating  an  interesting  history  of  this  big  rattler  and 
that  rattler,  how  they  had  bitten  a  man  who  died.  When 
he  had  his  auditor  absorbed  in  the  story,  with  his  eyes 
bulged  out,  and  attending  to  nothing  else  but  the  story  of 
the  big  snakes,  the  story  teller  would  suddenly  say: 
"Bend  your  neck  and  look  down  there  at  that  monster;" 
and  when  his  man  would  bend  his  head  and  stoop  over, 
someone  would  place  the  enormous  stuffed  snake  on  his 
neck,  its  tail  and  its  head  almost  touching  the  ground 
from  either  side.  Mr.  Man,  feeling  the  snake  and,  at  the 
same  time,  seeing  it,  would  give  an  ungodly  whoop,  bend 
his  head,  and  keep  jumping  up  and  down,  trying  to  shake 
it  off  over  his  head,  instead  of  straightening  up,  as  he 
ought  to  have  done,  when  the  snake  would  have  dropped 
off  his  back.  Then  there  would  be  a  seance.  The  crowd 
would  whoop  and  hollo,  and  the  poor  fellow  would  join 
them  from  fear  and  keep  jumping  up  and  down,  until, 
finally,  he  would  get  rid  of  the  terrible  snake — it  would 
drop  off. 

Now  negroes  fear  snakes  worse  than  any  race  of 
people  on  earth,  and  no  sooner  would  the  darkey  get  over 
his  fright  (when  the  victim  chanced  to  be  a  darkey), 
than  he  would  go  out  into  the  street  and  bring  in  another 
darkey  to  go  through  the  same  performance  as  himself. 
This  was  his  mode  of  revenge. 

One  day  an  old  fellow  came  along,  traveling  back 

east  to  his  wife's  folks,  and  he  proved  to  be  an  easy 

victim  of  the  gang,  but  in  the  end,  it  was  an  expense  to 

them.  After  going  through  the  same  performance  as  the 

negro,  they  found  he  had  a  prairie  dog  in  his  wagon, 

which  the  boys  persuaded  him  to  let  them  put  into  the 

cage  with  the  snakes,  and  they  told  the  old  man  the  dog 

would  whip  the  snakes.  They  had  no  idea  he  would,  but 

—246— 


the  little  fellow  made  a  gallant  fight,  I  tell  you.  He  made 
the  attack  and  began  the  fight  himself,  as  soon  as  he  was 
placed  with  them,  and,  my!  how  he  did  fight.  He  just 
went  for  those  snakes  like  a  little  tiger,  would  grab  one 
in  his  teeth,  lift  it  almost  off  the  floor,  and  shake  it  sav- 
agely; and  he  just  kept  on  until  he  got  all  those  snakes 
so  riled  up,  he  set  them  crazy,  and  they  all  got  to  fighting 
and  biting  each  other.  The  litde  dog  would  get  so  tired 
he  would  rush  up  the  side  of  the  cage  and  hold  on  for  a 
little  while,  until  he  regained  his  wind,  and  then  he 
would  jump  down  and  at  'em  again,  harder  than  ever. 
He  did  make  a  gallant  fight  and  a  long  one.  It  surprised 
us  all  that  he  could  last  so  long,  but,  finally,  the  little 
fellow  began  to  weaken,  and  the  old  man  declared  the 
fight  off.  The  prairie  dog  died  soon  after  they  took  him 
out  of  the  cage,  but  he  got  his  revenge;  next  day  there 
was  not  on  of  those  dozen  big  rattlers  alive.  They  must 
have  poisoned  each  other  in  the  fight.  Anyhow,  they 
were  all  dead — not  one  left  alive  to  tell  of  the  fight;  the 
little  prairie  dog  took  them  all  with  him  to  the  happy 
hunting  grounds.  It  was  a  fit  ending  for  such  a  gallant 
fight  as  the  little  fellow  made. 


—247- 


Chapter  XIV. 

Where  the  Swindler  Flourished  and  Grew  Fat 

T^TITH  its  cosmopolitan  crowds  and  free  and  easy  life 
^  "  •  "with  the  broad  frontier  for  refuge  close  at  hand,  it 
was  natural  that  Dodge  City,  in  its  early  days,  should  be  a 
fruitful  field  for  the  street  fraud  and  professional  swindler 
of  every  description.  Probably,  there  was  not  a  confidence 
game  nor  a  fake  proposition  known,  at  that  time,  that  was 
not  worked  to  the  full  on  the  streets  of  Dodge  City,  and 
even  the  open-hearted  kindness  and  liberality  which  so 
characterized  the  town  in  cases  of  distress  and  need,  was 
often  made  material  for  dishonest  manipulation,  and  the 
foundation  for  ill-gotten  gains,  by  unprincipled  individu- 
als. 

So  proverbial  had  the  liberality  of  the  citizens  of 
Dodge  City  become  that  it  was  known  for  miles  up  and 
down  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail.  Unprincipled  immigrants 
and  strangers  took  advantage  of  it.  For  instance,  a  strong, 
hearty,  middle-aged  man,  bronzed  from  exposure  to  the 
weather,  and  having  other  appearances  of  an  honest,  hard 
working,  industrious  man  who  was  taking  Horace 
Greeley's  advice  and  moving  west  to  better  his  condition, 
came  into  Dodge,  one  afternoon,  hitched  in  harness  by 
the  side  of  a  poor,  old  raw-boned  horse,  drawing  a  wagon 
in  which  was  the  younger  portion  of  his  family.  The 
others  were  barefooted  and  walking.  He  claimed  that 
his  other  horse  got  alkalied  and  died  some  distance  down 
the  river,  which  was  a  likely  story,  as  they  were  lots  of 
alkali  pools  in  the  river  bottom.  Some  sympathetic  per- 
sons went  around  with  a  hat  in  their  hands  and  his  hard- 
luck  story  on  their  tongues,  and  soon  enough  money  was 
raised  to  buy  him  a  good  span  of  horses,  grub  for  his 
family,  and  to  pay  his  expenses  for  some  time.  He  went 
on  his  way,  saying  in  his  heart,  "What  fools  these  people 

—248— 


be!  They  have  much  more  generosity  than  sense,"  for  he 
had  sent  his  hired  man  around  north  of  town  with  two 
good  horses,  and  we  heard  he  was  fairly  well  to  do. 

Another  time,  a  poor  family,  with  a  dilapidated 
wagon  and  horses  to  match,  the  wagon  full  of  children, 
rolled  into  Dodge  and  exhibited  a  dead  baby  and  a  sick 
mother.  No  money,  no  clothes,  no  food,  and,  as  a  Mexican 
says,  "no  nather."  This  was  a  piteous  sight  to  behold,  and 
soon  the  generous  feeling,  always  slumbering  in  the  hearts 
of  the  good  people  of  Dodge,  was  aroused  and  they  raised 
a  subscription  for  a  coffin  and  buried  the  little  one,  and 
gave  the  mother  quite  a  snug  little  sum  of  money,  and 
bought  groceries  for  the  family.  That  night  they  dug 
up  the  corpse  and  took  it  and  the  coffin  to  the  next  town, 
after  filling  up  the  grave.  You  see,  it  was  a  wax  baby — 
a  good  imitation.  We  heard  of  them  playing  the  same 
trick  on  other  towns. 

One  morning  in  the  early  days  of  Dodge  City,  two 
gentlemen,  elegantly  dressed  and  groomed,  made  their 
appearance  at  the  Long  Branch  saloon.  One  could  see  at 
a  glance  they  were  educated  and  refined,  and  both  men 
had  lovely  manners  and  exceedingly  great  persuasive 
powers.  They  were  quiet  and  unassuming,  both  were  lib- 
eral spenders  as  well  as  drinkers,  but  they  never  were 
under  the  influence  of  liquor.  It  was  only  a  short  time 
until  they  had  captivated  a  lot  of  friends,  and  I  among 
the  number.  They  were  admirable  story  tellers.  One 
we  will  call  Doc  Holiday,  the  other  Creek.  They  had 
traveled  all  over  Europe,  spoke  several  languages,  and 
the  doctor  had  diplomas  from  several  colleges  in  Europe, 
having  finished  his  education  in  Heidelberg. 

They  and  I  soon  became  very  intimate.  Of  course, 
before  our  friendship  ripened,  I  took  them  to  be  what  I 
thought  them,  elegant  gentlemen;  but,  to  my  surprise, 
under  a  promise  from  me  not  to  betray  them,  they  told  me 
they  were  big  crooks  and  gold  brick  men.  The  first  year 

—249— 


of  the  great  boom  at  Leadville,  they  gold-bricked  an 
Ohio  banker.  The  banker  came  to  Leadville  with  scads 
of  ready  money,  hunting  soft  snaps.  Their  stool  pigeons 
soon  discovered  him  and  brought  them  together.  The 
gold  brick  men  claimed  they  w^ere  the  last  of  a  gang  of 
mountain  bandits  w^ho  robbed  the  Deadv^ood  stage.  Most 
of  these  gold  bricks,  they  said,  belonged  to  the  govern- 
ment and  w^ere  being  shipped  to  the  mint  at  Denver  when 
they  were  captured.  The  government  had  a  record  of  the 
number  of  the  bricks  and  the  actual  weight  of  each  brick, 
so  they  could  be  identified,  which  was  the  reason  they 
were  making  such  a  sacrifice,  for  they,  themselves  could 
not  possibly  dispose  of  the  bricks,  to  get  anywhere  near 
their  value. 

The  price  was  soon  fixed  at  about  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  but  then  came  the  test.  The  old  banker  thought 
he  was  very  cunning.  They  brought  a  brick  and  had  the 
banker  file  it  at  the  ends,  center,  and  middle,  took  the 
filings  to  an  isolated  spot  in  a  fine,  white  silk  handker- 
chief, and  applied  the  acid.  The  filings  stood  the  test 
because  they  had  exchanged  handkerchiefs,  substituting 
genuine  gold  filings  for  the  base  metal.  The  banker  then 
demanded  to  see  all  the  bricks.  They  had  them  sunk  in 
a  little  lake  in  the  mountains,  with  a  gravelly  bottom. 
They  dove  down  and  brought  up  a  brick  which  the  bank- 
er filed  the  same  as  the  other,  and  took  the  filings,  that 
night  after  dark,  to  an  old  log  cabin  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  town.  When  they  were  about  to  make  the  acid  test 
again,  someone  knocked.  They  blew  out  the  light  and 
made  the  grand  change  again,  and  told  the  banker  to  take 
the  filings  himself  to  a  jeweler,  and  apply  the  acid.  Of 
course,  the  test  was  approved  by  the  jeweler  and  the  bank- 
er, because  the  dust  was  genuine  gold  dust. 

Now  then.  Creek  stayed  with  the  banker,  at  his  re- 
quest, as  far  as  Chicago.  This  was  playing  into  their 
hands,  of  course.    The  banker  was  anxious  to  have  Creek 

—250— 


at  the  final  test  in  Chicago,  but  Creek  had  no  such  notion. 
Of  course,  these  men  were  disguised,  and  had  their  own 
plans,  and  were  in  constant  communication  with  each 
other.  At  some  large  city  east  of  the  Missouri  River,  an 
officer  came  on  board,  put  his  hand  on  the  banker's' 
shoulder,  and  said:  "I  arrest  you  as  an  accomplice  in  a 
theft  of  government  gold,  which  I  have  reason  to  believe 
you  have  with  you,  and,  if  you  promise  to  behave,  I  won't 
put  the  handcuffs  on  you."  The  officer  who  made  the 
arrest  said  to  his  deputy  who  stood  behind  him,  "Look 
out  for  this  man  and  his  partner,  too  (meaning  Creek) ; 
while  I  go  out  and  get  us  some  lunch,  as  I  don't  intend 
they  shall  leave  this  train  until  it  pulls  into  Chicago." 
As  soon  as  the  officer  was  gone.  Creek  said  to  the  deputy, 
"Please  go  with  me  to  the  closet."  When  they  returned, 
Creek  said  to  the  banker,  "The  deputy  wants  to  talk  to 
you  privately."  The  deputy  said,  "Why  not  buy  off  this 
United  States  marshal?  You  will  not  only  lose  your 
bricks,  but  you  will  be  disgraced  forever,  and  may  go  to 
the  penitentiary  for  a  long  term.  Try  him  when  he  gets 
back."  Of  course,  at  first,  the  United  States  marshal  was 
very  indignant,  but  finally  said  he  would  turn  the  banker 
loose  on  the  payment  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  and  he 
got  the  money  soon  after  reaching  Chicago.  It  is  needless 
to  say  the  United  States  marshal  was  no  one  else  but  Doc 
Holiday. 

The  last  I  saw  of  the  two,  they  were  starting  south, 
overland,  in  a  buckboard,  with  tent,  cooking  utensils,  and 
camp  equipage  of  all  kinds.  They  had  along  a  race  horse, 
a  prize  fighter,  a  fighting  bulldog,  and  two  prize-win-  • 
ning  game  cocks.  They  were  sports,  every  inch  of  them, 
if  they  were  crooks,  and  both  were  dead  shots  with  the 
six-shooter.  These  men  were  in  Dodge  City  under  cover, 
and  stayed  all  summer,  or  until  the  hunt  for  them  had 
been  abandoned.  Dodge  was  the  hiding  place  for  a  great 
many  crooks  of  every  description.   They  even  say  Jesse 

—251— 


James  was  here,  for  a  short  time,  under  cover,  and  Bob 
Ford,  his  murderer,  was  also. 

On  one  occasion,  word  reached  Dodge  City  several 
days  in  advance,  of  the  arrival  of  a  large  band  of  Gypsies, 
headed  for  Dodge  City.  Large  bodies  move  slowly,  and 
so  it  was  with  this  band,  so  the  "gang"  had  plenty  of 
time  to  prepare  a  proper  reception  for  them.  This  band 
was  the  most  filthy  set  of  vagabonds  imaginable,  and  their 
animals  and  outfit  were  worse,  if  such  a  thing  could  be. 

They  anticipated  a  rich  harvest  here,  as  they  had 
heard  of  the  liberality  and  generosity  of  our  people  and 
expected  large  returns  from  fortune  telling,  horse  racing, 
horse  trading,  begging,  and  all  the  tricks  in  which  they 
are  proficient.  They  began  business  with  horse  racing, 
but  the  gang  "hokey-pokied"  their  horses,  and  the  result 
was  the  throwing  of  the  riders  over  the  horses'  heads, 
and  the  bucking,  kicking,  and  pitching  of  the  animals, 
until  they  got  to  camp.  The  second  day,  the  women 
brought  in  their  chimpanzees,  and  they  had  some  mon- 
sters, but  they  were  mangy,  skinny,  and  repulsive,  and 
their  monkeys,  bears,  parrots,  and  other  animals  were  in 
the  same  condition.    They  were  a  scabby  looking  lot. 

For  shelter,  the  Gypsies  had  a  hundred  little  low  dog 
tents,  black  with  smoke,  dirt,  and  filth,  and  their  wagons 
were  dilapidated,  wabbly,  and  of  all  sizes  and  descrip- 
tions, from  a  wheelbarrow  and  dog  cart  to  a  two-horse 
wagon. 

Their  chimpanzees  were  intelligent  and  well  trained 
and  understood  their  business,  but  they  did  not  under- 
stand their  trouble  when  they  received  a  liberal  applica- 
tion of  "hokey-pokey"  from  the  gang,  and  it  made  them 
vicious  and  crazy.  They  had  sense  enough,  however,  to 
know  who  applied  it  to  them,  and  they  went  after  the 
fellows  and  very  nearly  caught  some  of  them.  What  a 
fight  and  struggle  the  women  had  to  control  these  ani- 

—252— 


mals,  and  it  certainly  was  an  interesting  and  amusing 
diversion  to  see  them. 

There  was  a  large,  smooth,  piece  of  ground,  just  out- 
side the  town  limits,  where  they  camped,  expecting  to 
stay  a  long  time.  They  had  one  very  large,  ferocious 
bear,  and  twenty  or  thirty  dogs  of  all  kinds  and  varieties, 
with  which  they  would  gi\e  their  big  show  or  "principal 
attraction."  This  attraction  they  would  not  put  on  unless 
they  got  their  price.  Their  big  performance  was  to  tie 
a  rope,  several  hundred  feet  long,  to  this  big,  half-starved 
bear,  give  him  a  large  beef  bone,  then  turn  in  the  whole 
pack  of  half-starved  dogs  with  him.  Now  this  was  a 
fight,  as  they  say  here,  "for  your  whiskers."  They  an- 
nounced their  first  exhibition  for  Saturday  evening,  it 
was  soon  advertised  all  over  town,  and  another  exhibition 
was  announced  for  the  following  morning. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  morning,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  many  went  to  church  that  day,  judging  from 
the  crowd  on  the  grounds.  The  boys  were  posted  from 
the  exhibition  of  the  evening  before,  and  were  ready  to 
make  a  slight  change  in  the  program.  Just  as  the  bear 
was  turned  out,  with  the  rope  attached,  he  received  an 
application  of  the  "hokey-pokey"  and  he  was  doped 
plentifully.  At  the  same  time,  every  cage  containing  a 
wolf,  coyote,  bear,  monkey,  or  chimpanzee,  which  had 
been  previously  assigned  to  some  member  of  the  gang 
for  attention  was  carefully  attended  to,  and  all  of  the 
animals  were  doped.  The  work  was  perfectly  done,  and 
the  results  were  highly  satisfactory.  The  bear  just  simply 
went  crazy,  and  he  struck  the  dogs  right  and  left,  as  they 
came  to  him,  and  every  lick  sent  a  dog  some  distances  in 
some  direction.  The  dogs  were  just  as  determined  and 
industrious  as  the  bear,  and  would  come  at  him  more 
fiercely  than  ever,  but  they  made  no  impression  on  him. 
He  wanted  to  get  away  from  something,  he  did  not  know 
what.  He  would  run  the  whole  length  of  the  rope,  when 

—253— 


the  men  at  the  other  end  of  the  rope  would  check  him. 
He  would  then  take  a  swing  in  some  other  direction,  and 
the  people  would  fall  all  over  each  other  and  in  every 
direction.  The  bear  had  the  right  of  way  and  used  it. 
Our  marshal,  Low  Warren,  was  busy,  trying  to  keep  the 
people  out  of  the  way  of  the  bear  and  danger,  and  to 
restore  order,  but,  notwithstanding  he  was  perhaps  the 
largest  man  in  the  county,  he  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
stop  the  flow  of  the  Arkansas  river.  In  an  attempt  to  get 
some  women  and  children  out  of  the  way,  he  went 
sprawling  down  and  took  several  more  with  him. 

As  here  related,  all  the  animals  were  doped  at  the 
same  time,  and  the  effect  was  the  same  on  all,  and  at  the 
same  time.  The  howling,  screaming,  moaning,  and  acro- 
batic performances  of  people  and  animals  were  certainly 
worth  the  price  of  admission,  and  such  confusion  I  never 
saw.  When  the  Gypsies  could  come  to  a  realization  of 
what  had  happened,  the  women  made  a  charge  on  the 
gang,  armed  with  sticks,  stones,  and  everything  that 
would  serve  as  a  weapon  of  offensive  warfare.  The  dis- 
regard for  polite  language  was  very  noticeable,  and  the 
confusion  of  tongues  was  bewildering. 

As  a  fitting  climax  to  this  unique  entertainment,  a 
young  fellow  named  Gibson,  rode  up  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  camp,  on  a  fiery  young  colt,  and  was  viewing  the 
results  of  the  performance,  when  some  member  of  the 
fraternity  slipped  up  behind  the  colt  and  doped  him. 
Gibson  and  the  colt  parted  company  immediately,  and  the 
colt  took  his  departure,  giving  an  excellent  exhibition  of 
pitching  and  bucking  through  the  camp,  scattering  the 
women  and  children  of  the  Gypsies,  and  adding  fuel  to 
their  already  consuming  passions  and  rage.  They  con- 
cluded that  Dodge  City  was  certainly  the  capital  of  all 
the  demons  in  existence,  and,  the  next  day,  they  folded 
their  tents  and  departed  for  more  congenial  parts.  Dodge 
City  was  too  much  for  them. 

—254— 


A  unique  but  decidedly  significant  warning  to  the 
swindlers  and  crooks  infesting  Dodge  City,  was  made  by 
a  newly  elected  mayor,  A.  B.  Webster,  who,  upon  assum- 
ing office,  issued  the  following  proclamation: 

"To  all  whom  it  may  concern:  All  thieves,  thugs,  con- 
fidence men,  and  persons  without  visible  means  of  sup- 
port, will  take  notice  that  the  ordinances,  enacted  for 
their  special  benefit,  will  be  rigorously  enforced  after  April 
7th,  1881." 


—255— 


Chapter  XV. 

The  Cattle  Business  and  the  Texas  Drive 

"C^OR  a  few  of  Dodge  City's  earliest  years,  the  great 
herds  of  buffalo  were  the  source  from  which  sprung  a 
large  share  of  the  business  activity  and  prosperity  of  the 
place.  As  has  been  virtually  stated,  buffalo  hunting  was 
a  regular  vocation,  and  traffic  in  buffalo  hides  and  meat 
a  business  of  vast  proportions.  But  after  a  time,  the  source 
of  this  business  began  to  fail,  and  something  to  take  its 
place  was  necessary  if  a  gap  were  not  to  be  left  in  Dodge 
City's  industrial  world.  A  substitute,  in  the  form  of  a 
new  industry,  was  not  wanting,  however,  for  immediately 
in  the  wake  of  the  buffalo  hunter  came  the  cowboy,  and 
following  the  buffalo  came  the  long-horned  steer.  As 
the  herds  of  the  former  receded  and  vanished,  the  herds  of 
the  latter  advanced  and  multiplied,  until  countless  num- 
bers of  buffaloes  were  wholly  supplanted  by  countless 
numbers  of  cattle,  and  Dodge  City  was  surrounded  with 
new-fashioned  herds  in  quite  the  old-fashioned  way.  Be- 
ing the  border  railroad  town,  Dodge  also  became  at  once 
the  cattle  market  for  the  whole  southwestern  frontier,  and, 
very  shortly,  the  cattle  business  became  enormous,  being 
practically  all  of  that  connected  with  western  Kansas, 
eastern  Colorado,  New  Mexico,  Indian  Territory  (now 
Oklahoma),  and  Texas.  Cattle  were  driven  to  Dodge,  at 
intervals,  from  all  these  points  for  sale  and  transportation, 
but  the  regular  yearly  drive  from  the  ranges  of  Texas 
was  so  much  greater  in  numbers  and  importance  than  the 
others,  that  they  were  quite  obscured  by  it,  while  the 
Texas  drive  became  famous  for  its  immensity. 

The  "Kansas  City  Indicator,"  and  other  reliable 
papers  and  estimates,  place  the  drive  north  from  Texas, 
from  1866  to  1878,  at  3,413,513  head.  The  "San  Antonio 

Express"  says  of  the  enormous  number:     "Place  a  low 

—256— 


i  ^ 


^^' 


average  receipt  of  seven  dollars  per  head,  yet  we  have  the 
great  sum  of  $24,004,591.00.  Not  more  than  half  of  this 
vast  amount  of  money  finds  its  way  back  to  the  state,  but 
much  the  larger  portion  is  frittered  away  by  the  reckless 
owner  and  more  reckless  cowboy."  Of  this  money,  a  con- 
temporary writer  says:  "Of  course  Dodge  receives  her 
portion  which  adds  greatly  to  the  prosperity  of  the  town 
and  helps  build  up  our  city.  The  buyers  pay  on  an  average 
of  eight  dollars  per  head  for  yearling  steers  and  seven 
dollars  for  heifers.  They  place  these  yearling  steers  on 
ranches,  both  north  and  south  of  us,  and  market  them 
in  two  years,  when  they  net  in  Kansas  City,  Chicago,  and 
other  markets  at  twenty-five  dollars,  making  the  net 
profit  of  two  hundred  per  cent  on  their  investments  or 
doubling  their  capital  twice  over,  as  their  losses  are  not 
more  than  two  or  three  per  cent,  and  the  cost  of  running 
them  for  two  years  are  very  light." 

They  paid  no  taxes;  they  paid  no  rent  for  their 
ranches;  and  their  ranges  were  free.  The  cost  of  living 
was  very  light,  and  all  they  were  out  were  the  men's 
wages.  You  can  readily  see  how  all  those  engaged  in 
the  stock  business  quickly  made  fortunes,  and  the  business 
was  the  cleanest,  healthiest  on  earth. 

The  cattle  drive  to  Dodge  City  first  began  in  1875- 

1876,  when  there  were  nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty 

thousand  head  driven  to  this  point.    In  1877,  there  were 

over  three  hundred  thousand,  and  the  number  each  year 

continued  to  increase  until  the  drive  reached  nearly  a 

half  million.    We  held  the  trade  for  ten  years,  until  1886, 

when  the  dead  line  was  moved  to  the  state  line.  There 

were  more  cattle  driven  to  Dodge,  any  and  every  year  that 

Dodge  held  it,  than  to  any  other  town  in  the  state,  and 

Dodge  held  it  three  times  longer  than  any  other  town, 

and,  for  about  ten  years.  Dodge  was  the  greatest  cattle 

market  in  the  world.    Yes,  all  the  towns  that  enjoyed  the 

—257— 


trade  of  the  Texas  Drive,  Dodge  exceeded  greatly  in 
number,  and  held  it  much  longer. 

In  corroboration  of  this  assertion,  I  give  a  quotation 
from  the  "Kansas  City  Times,"  of  that  period,  thus: 
"Dodge  City  has  become  the  great  bovine  market  of  the 
world,  the  number  of  buyers  from  afar  being  unprece- 
dently  large  this  year  (  ),  giving  an  impetus  to 
the  cattle  trade  that  cannot  but  speedily  shov^^  its  fruits. 
The  v^onderfully  rank  growth  of  grasses  and  an  abun- 
dance of  water  this  season  has  brought  the  condition  of 
the  stock  to  the  very  highest  standard,  the  ruling  prices 
showing  a  corresponding  improvement.  There  are  now 
upwards  of  one  hundred  thousand  head  of  cattle  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  Dodge  City,  and  some  of  the  herds 
run  high  into  the  thousands.  There  is  a  single  herd 
numbering  forty  thousand,  another  of  seventeen  thou- 
sand, another  of  twenty-one  thousand,  and  several  of  five 
thousand  or  thereabouts.  On  Saturday,  no  less  than 
twenty-five  thousand  were  sold.  The  Texas  drive  to 
Dodge  this  year  will  run  close  to  two  hundred  thousand 
head." 

A  "Kansas  City  Times"  correspondent,  in  a  letter 
headed,  "Dodge  City,  Kansas,  May  28th,  1877,"  writes 
up  the  subject  as  follows: 

"Abilene,  Ellsworth,  and  Hays  City  on  the  Kansas 
Pacific  railroad,  then  Newton  and  Wichita,  and  now 
Dodge  City  on  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  road, 
have  all,  in  their  turn,  enjoyed  the  'boil  and  bubble,  toil 
trouble'  of  the  Texas  cattle  trade. 

"Three  hundred  and  sixty-seven  miles  west  from 
Kansas  City  we  step  off  at  Dodge,  slumbering  as  yet 
(8:30  a.m.)  in  the  tranquil  stillness  of  a  May  morning. 
In  this  respect  Dodge  is  peculiar.  She  awakes  from  her 
slumbers  about  eleven,  a.  m.,  takes  her  sugar  and  lemon 
at  twelve  m.,  a  square  meal  at  one  p.  m.,  commences  biz 

—258— 


at  two  o'clock,  gets  lively  at  four,  and  at  ten  it  is  hip-hip- 
hurrah!  till  five  in  the  morning. 

"Not  being  a  full-fledged  Dodgeite,  v^e  breakfasted 
with  Deacon  Cox,  of  the  Dodge  House,  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  meandered  around  until  we  found  ourselves  on  top  of 
the  new  and  handsome  courthouse.  A  lovely  prairie 
landscape  was  here  spread  out  before  us.  Five  miles  to 
the  southeast  nestled  Fort  Dodge,  coyly  hiding,  one  would 
think,  in  the  brawny  arm  of  the  Arkansas.  Then,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  for  miles  up  the  river  and  past  the 
city,  the  bright  green  velvety  carpet  was  dotted  by  thou- 
sands of  long-horns  which  have,  in  the  last  few  days, 
arrived,  after  months  of  travel,  some  of  them  from  be- 
yond the  Rio  Grande  and  which  may,  in  a  few  more 
months,  give  the  Bashi  Bazouks  fresh  courage  for  chop- 
ping up  the  Christians  and  carrying  out  the  dictates  of 
their  Koran.  But  we  are  too  far  off.  We  have  invaded 
Turkey  with  Texas  beef,  and,  though  a  long-horned  sub- 
ject must  be  somewhat  contracted  here. 

"Dodge  City  has  now  about  twelve  hundred  inhabi- 
tants— residents  we  mean,  for  there  is  a  daily  population 
of  twice  that  many;  six  or  seven  large  general  stores,  the 
largest  of  which.  Rath  &  Wright,  does  a  quarter  o£  a 
million  retail  trade  in  a  year;  and  the  usual  complement 
of  drug  stores,  bakers,  butchers,  blacksmiths,  etc.;  and 
last,  but  not  by  any  means  the  least,  nineteen  saloons — 
no  little  ten-by-twelves,  but  seventy-five  to  one  hundred 
feet  long,  glittering  with  paint  and  mirrors,  and  some  of 
them  paying  one  hundred  dollars  per  month  rent  for  the 
naked  room. 

"Dodge,  we  find,  is  in  the  track  of  the  San  Juanist, 
numbers  of  which  stop  here  to  outfit,  on  their  way  to 
the  silvery  hills. 

"We  had  the  good  luck  to  interview  Judge  Beverly 
of  Texas,  who  is  the  acknowledged  oracle  of  the  cattle 
trade.   He  estimates  the  drive  at  two  hundred  and  eighty- 

—259— 


five  thousand,  probably  amounting  to  three  hundred 
thousand,  including  calves.  Three-quarters  of  all  will 
probably  stop  at  Dodge  and  be  manipulated  over  the 
Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe,  by  that  prince  of  railroad 
agents,  J.  H.  Phillips,  Esq.  Herbert,  as  he  is  familiarly 
called,  is  a  graduate  of  Tammany  Hall  and  is  understood 
to  wear  in  his  shirt  front  the  identical  solitaire  once  worn 
by  Boss  Tweed.  It  is  hinted  that  Herbert  will  buy  every 
hoof  destined  for  the  Kansas  Pacific  road,  at  four  times 
its  value,  rather  than  see  them  go  that  way.  He  would 
long,  long  ago  have  been  a  white-winged  angel,  playing 
on  the  harp  of  a  thousand  strings,  were  it  not  for  the 
baneful  associations  of  Frazer,  Sheedy,  Cook,  et  al.  You 
can  hear  more  about  'cutting  out,'  'rounding  up,'  etc.,  in 
Dodge,  in  fifteen  minutes,  than  you  can  hear  in  small 
towns  like  Chicago  and  St.  Louis  in  a  lifetime." 

In  the  same  year,  another  newspaper  representative, 
G.  C.  Noble,  who  visited  Dodge,  describes  his  impressions 
as  follows: 

"At  Dodge  City  we  found  everything  and  everybody 
busy  as  they  could  comfortably  be.  This  being  my  first 
visit  to  the  metropolis  of  the  West,  we  were  very  pleas- 
antly surprised,  after  the  cock  and  bull  stories  that  lunatic 
correspondents  had  given  the  public.  Not  a  man  was 
swinging  from  a  telegraph  pole;  not  a  pistol  was  fired; 
no  disturbance  of  any  kind  was  noted.  Instead  of  being 
called  on  to  disgorge  the  few  ducats  in  our  possession,  we 
were  hospitably  treated  by  all.  It  might  be  unpleasant 
for  one  or  two  old  time  correspondents  to  be  seen  here, 
but  they  deserve  all  that  would  be  meted  out  to  them. 
The  Texas  cattlemen  and  cowboys,  instead  of  being  armed 
to  the  teeth,  with  blood  in  their  eye,  conduct  themselves 
with  propriety,  many  of  them  being  thorough  gentlemen. 

"Dodge  City  is  supported  principally  by  the  immense 
cattle  trade  that  is  carried  on  here.  During  the  season 
that  has  just  now  fairly  opened,  not  less  than  two  hundred 

—260— 


thousand  head  will  find  a  market  here,  and  there  are 
nearly  a  hundred  purchasers  who  make  their  head- 
quarters here  during  the  season.  Mr.  A.  H.  Johnson,  the 
gentlemanly  stock  agent  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa 
Fe  Company,  informs  us  that  the  drive  to  this  point,  dur- 
ing the  season,  will  be  larger  than  ever  before. 

"From  our  window  in  the  Dodge  House,  which  by 
the  way,  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  commodious  in  the 
west,  can  be  seen  five  herds,  ranging  from  one  thousand 
to  ten  thousand  each,  that  are  awaiting  transportation. 
The  stock  yards  here  are  the  largest  west  of  St.  Louis, 
and  just  now  are  well  filled. 

"Charles  Rath  &  Company  have  a  yard  in  which  are 
about  fifty  thousand  green  and  dried  buffalo  hides. 

"F.  C.  Zimmerman,  an  old  patron  of  the  *Champ- 
ion,'  runs  a  general  outfitting  store,  and  flourishes  finan- 
cially and  physically.  Many  other  friends  of  the  leading 
journal  are  doing  business,  and  are  awaiting  patiently 
the  opening  up  of  the  country  to  agricultural  purposes. 

"In  the  long  run.  Dodge  is  destined  to  become  the 
metropolis  of  western  Kansas  and  only  awaits  the  devel- 
opment of  its  vast  resources. 

One  more  brief  extract  from  a  visitor's  account  of 
his  visit  "among  the  long-horns",  and  the  extent  and 
importance  of  Dodge  City's  early  cattle  trade  will  have 
been  sufficiently  established  to  permit  my  proceeding  to 
some  of  the  peculiar  phases  of  that  trade  and  the  life  of 
the  stockmen  and  cowboys.  This  visitor  sees  the  facetious 
side  of  the  Dodge  cattle  traffic: 

"This  is  May,  1877,  Dodge  City  boiling  over  with 
buyers  and  drivers.  'Dodge  City!'  called  the  brakeman, 
and,  with  about  thirty  other  sinners,  we  strung  out  to  the 
Dodge  House  to  command  the  register  with  our  auto- 
graphs, deposit  our  grip-sacks  with  Deacon  Cox,  and 
breakfast.    But  what  a  crowd  is  this  we  have  elbowed 

our  reportorial  nose  into?  and  bless  your  soul,  what  a 

—261— 


sight!  It  just  looks  like  all  Texas  was  here.  We  now 
learn  that  everybody  not  at  the  Dodge  House  is  at  the 
Alamo.  The  Alamo  is  presided  over  by  a  reformed 
Quaker  from  New  York,  and  it  is  hinted  that  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  concocts  a  toddy  (every  genuine  cattle- 
man drinks  toddy)  increases  the  value  of  a  Texas  steer 
two  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents.  There  is  about  seven- 
ty-five thousand  head  around  town.  Everybody  is  buying 
and  selling.  Everything  you  hear  is  about  beeves  and 
steers  and  cows  and  toddies  and  cocktails.  The  grass  is 
remarkably  fine;  the  water  is  plenty;  two  drinks  for  a 
quarter,  and  no  grangers.  These  facts  make  Dodge  City 
the  cattle  point." 

Notwithstanding  the  regularity  of  the  great  drives 
into  Dodge,  their  magnitude,  and  the  general  popularity 
of  the  cattle  trade  as  a  business,  the  life  of  the  cowboys 
and  drovers  was,  by  no  means,  an  easy  one.  It  was 
beset  on  every  hand  by  hardship  and  danger.  Exposure 
and  privation  continually  tried  the  man  who  was  out 
with  the  great  herds;  accidents,  stampedes,  and  other 
dangers  continually  threatened  his  life;  horse  and  cattle 
thieves  continually  harassed  him  with  fears  for  the  safety 
of  his  mounts  and  his  charge. 

A  little  item  which  appeared  in  the  "Dodge  City 
Times",  of  April  6th,  1878,  read  like  this:  "Mr.  Jesse 
Evans  and  his  outfit,  consisting  of  fifty  men  and  five 
four-mule  teams  and  a  number  of  saddle  horses,  started 
for  the  southwest  yesterday.  They  go  to  New  Mexico  to 
gather  from  the  ranges  about  twenty  thousand  cattle  that 
Mr.  Evans  has  purchased  and  will  bring  to  Dodge  City 
for  sale  and  shipment."  This  expedition  appeared  simple 
and  easy  enough,  from  the  tone  of  the  item,  but  it  gave 
no  idea  at  all  of  the  real  facts  in  the  case. 

The  fifty  men  were  picked  up  in  Dodge  City.  They 
were  all  fighters  and  gun-men,  selected  because  they  were 
such,  for,  in  gathering  these  twenty  thousand  head  of 


.262 — 


cattle,  they  did  so  from  under  the  very  noses  of  the  worst 
set  of  stock  thieves  and  outlav^s  ever  banded  together, 
who  were  the  Pecos  River  gang,  with  the  famous  "Billy 
the  Kid"  as  leader.  But  they  took  the  catde  without 
much  fighting,  and  delivered  them  safely  at  Jesse  Evan's 
ranch  just  southeast  of  Dodge. 

These  men  suffered  incredible  hardships  on  the  drive 
up.  Before  they  were  halfway  back,  winter  overtook 
them,  and  their  horses  necessarily  being  thin  from  the 
terrible  work  they  had  done,  could  not  survive  the  cold 
storms,  but  lay  down  and  died.  There  was  scarcely  a 
mount  left.  The  men  were  all  afoot,  and  barefooted  at 
that,  and  had  to  often  help  draw  the  mess  wagon  by  hand. 
They  lived  for  weeks  on  nothing  but  fresh  beef,  often 
without  salt;  no  sugar,  no  coffee,  no  flour,  no  nothing, 
but  beef,  beef,  all  the  time,  and  they  were  the  most  woe 
begone,  ragged,  long-haired  outfit  I  ever  saw — scarcely 
any  clothing  except  old  blankets  tied  around  them  in 
every  fashion;  no  shoes  or  hats;  indeed,  they  were  almost 
naked.  But  I  tell  you  what  they  did  have  a  plenty;  it 
was  "gray-backs".  With  their  long  hair  and  long  beards, 
these  little  "varmints"  were  having  a  feast,  and  the  men 
bragged  about  these  little  pests  keeping  them  alive  and 
warm,  for,  in  scratching  so  much,  it  gave  good  circulation 
to  their  blood.  But  notwithstanding  their  long  hair  and 
naked,  dirty,  lousy  bodies,  the  men  were  in  splendid 
health.  They  wandered  into  Dodge,  one  and  two  at  a 
time,  and,  in  this  manner,  it  was  two  days  and  nights 
before  they  all  straggled  in. 

Perhaps  the  most  dangerous,  most  dreaded,  and  most 
carefully  guarded  against  phase  of  cattle  driving  was  the 
stampede,  where  all  the  skill,  nerve,  and  endurance  of  the 
drivers  were  tested  to  the  limit.  A  common  dark  lantern 
was  often  a  feature  at  such  times.  The  part  it  played  in 
quelling  and  controUing  a  stampede,  as  well  as  some 

— 263 — 


feature  of  the  stampede  itself,  is  well  described,  by  a 
writer  of  cattle  driving  days,  in  this  wise: 

"One  of  the  greatest  aids  to  the  cowboys  during  a 
stampede,  on  a  dark  stormy  night,  is  the  bull's-eye  lan- 
tern, and  it  so  simple  and  handy.  We  all  know  when  a 
stampede  starts  it  is  generally  on  a  dark,  stormy  night. 
The  cowboy  jumps  up,  seizes  his  horse,  and  starts  with 
a  bound  to  follow  the  noise  of  the  retreating  herd,  well 
knowing,  as  he  does,  the  great  danger  before  him;  often- 
times encountering  a  steep  bank,  ten  to  twenty  and  some- 
times thirty  feet  high,  over  which  his  horse  plunges  at 
full  speed,  to  their  certain  death.  For  he  knows  not  where 
the  cattle,  crazed  by  fear,  will  take  him,  but  he  does 
know  it  is  his  duty  to  follow  as  close  as  the  speed  of  his 
horse  will  take  him.  This  friend  of  his,  the  bull's-eye 
lantern,  was  discovered  by  accident.  The  flash  of  the 
lantern,  thrown  upon  the  bewildered  herd,  restores  it  to 
its  equilibrium,  and,  in  its  second  affright,  produces  a 
reaction,  as  it  were,  and,  being  completely  subdued,  the 
stampede  is  stopped,  during  the  most  tempestuous  raging 
of  the  elements.  The  old-fashioned  way  was  to  ride  to 
the  front  of  the  herd  and  fire  their  guns  in  the  faces  of 
the  cattle.  Now,  they  throw  the  flash  of  the  lantern  across 
the  front  of  the  herd  and  flash  the  bull's-eye  into  their 
faces,  which  is  much  more  effective.  The  courage  of 
the  cowboy  is  demonstrated  frequently  on  the  long  trail, 
but  few  of  the  cowboys  are  unequal  to  the  emergencies." 

As  a  result  of  the  widespread  stealing  of  cattle  and 
horses,  especially  horses,  which  went  on  in  connection 
with  the  great  cattle  traffic,  the  papers  of  the  day  abound- 
ed with  notices  like  the  following  from  the  "Dodge  City 
Times",  of  March  30th,  1878. 

"Mr.  H.  Spangler,  of  Lake  City,  Comanche  County, 
arrived  in  the  city  last  Saturday  in  search  of  two  horses 
that  had  been  stolen  from  him  last  December.  He  de- 
scribed the  stolen  stock  to  Sheriff  Masterson  who  immedi- 

—264— 


ately  instituted  search.  On  Monday  he  found  one  of  the 
horses,  a  very  valuable  animal,  at  Mueller's  cattle  ranch 
on  the  Saw  Log,  it  having  been  traded  to  Mr.  Wolf.  The 
horse  was  turned  over  to  the  owner.  The  sheriff  has 
trace  of  the  other  horse  and  will  endeavor  to  recover  it." 

Many  were  the  stories,  of  many  different  sorts,  told 
about  stock  stealing  and  stock  thieves.  Some  of  these 
even  took  a  humorous  turn.  One  such,  as  told  in  early 
days,  though  funny  was,  nevertheless,  true,  and  some  do 
say  that  the  man  only  took  back  what  was  taken  from 
him,  and  it  was  (honestly  or  dishonestly)  his  horse.  The 
reader  may  form  his  own  opinion  after  perusing  the  story, 
as  follows: 

"Mr.  O'Brien  arrived  in  Dodge  City  last  Sunday, 
August  30th,  1877,  with  the  property,  leaving,  as  we  stated, 
our  hero  on  the  open  prairie. 

"We  can  picture  in  our  minds  this  festive  horse-thief, 
as  he  wandered  over  this  sandy  plain,  under  the  burning 
sun,  bereft  of  the  things  he  holds  most  dear,  to-wit:  his 
horse,  his  saddle,  and  his  gun.  His  feet  became  sore,  his 
lips  parched,  and  he  feels,  verily,  he  is  not  in  luck.  At 
last  he  can  hold  his  pent-up  passion  no  longer.  A  pale 
gray  look  comes  into  his  face,  and  a  steel  gray  look  into 
his  eye,  and  he  swears  by  the  great  god  of  all  horse- 
thieves  (Dutch  Henry)  that  he  will  show  his  oppressors  a 
trick  or  two — that  he  will  show  them  an  aggrieved  knight 
of  the  saddle  knows  no  fear.  His  resolve  is  to  recapture 
his  horse  or  die  in  the  attempt.  A  most  noble  resolve. 
The  horse  is  his  own  by  all  laws  known  to  horse-thieves 
in  every  land.  It  is  his  because  he  stole  it.  Now,  be  it 
known  that  this  particular  horse  was  a  good  horse,  a 
horse  whose  speed  was  fast  and  whose  wind  was  good, 
so  to  speak.  This  horse  he  loved  because  he  was  a  fast 
horse  and  no  common  plug  could  run  with  half  as  much 
speed.    Seated  in  the  saddle  on  the  back  of  this  noble 

animal,  our  hero  feared  not  even  the  lightning  in  its  rapid 

—265— 


career.  As  we  said  before,  his  determination  was  fixed 
and  his  eye  was  sot.  He  would  recapture  the  noble  beast 
or  he  would  die  in  the  attempt.  It  was  a  go  on  foot  and 
alone.  He  struck  out.  At  the  first  hunters'  camp  he 
stole  a  gun,  a  pair  of  boots,  and  a  sack  of  flour.  He  stole 
these  articles  because  he  had  to  have  them,  and  it  was  a 
ground-hog  case.  On  he  came  toward  our  beautiful  city. 
His  knowledge  of  the  country  led  him  direct  to  the  farm 
of  a  rich  farmer.  As  he  approached  he  primed  his  gun, 
dropped  lightly  on  hands  and  knees,  and,  with  the  demon 
glowing  in  his  eye,  stole  silently  through  the  tall  buffalo 
grass  to  the  house.  Just  at  this  time  Mr.  O'Brien  happened 
to  be  riding  out  from  town.  He  was  riding  directly  by 
the  place  where  our  hero  was  concealed,  and  his  first  in- 
timation of  the  presence  of  anyone  was  the  sight  of  the 
man  he  met  the  Sunday  before,  with  his  gun  cocked  and 
pointed  at  him.  Throw  up  your  hands,'  said  the  horse- 
thief;  you  have  a  small  pistol  in  your  belt — throw  that 
down.'  Mr.  O'Brien  obeyed.  'Now  march  to  the  stable 
before  me,  get  my  saddle  and  gun,  and  curry  and  saddle 
my  horse  which  is  picketed  yonder,  and  await  further 
orders.' 

"Now,  it  so  happened  that  the  wealthy  farmer  was 
walking  out  that  evening  with  his  shotgun  on  his  arm. 
He  came  to  the  stable,  but,  just  as  he  turned  the  corner, 
the  muzzle  of  a  gun  was  placed  near  his  head,  and  the 
word,  'Halt!'  uttered.  The  rich  farmer  said,  'What  do 
you  want?'  'My  horse,  saddle,  and  bridle.'  'What  else?' 
'Nothing.'  The  farmer  made  a  move  as  if  he  would  use 
his  gun.  The  horse-thief  said,  'Do  not  move  or  you  will 
be  hurt.'  Silence  for  a  moment,  then,  'Lay  down  your 
gun.'  The  gun  was  laid  down.  By  this  time,  Mr.  O'Brien 
came  out  with  the  saddle  and  gun,  the  gun  being  strapped 
in  the  scabbard.  Keeping  them  both  under  cover  of  his 
rifle,  the  horse-thief  ordered  them  to  walk  before  him 

to  his  horse  and  ordered  Mr.  O'Brien  to  saddle  and  bridle 

—266— 


the  horse,  which  he  did.  Our  hero  then  mounted  his  brave 
steed  and  told  his  reluctant  companions  that  if  they  pur- 
sued him  their  lives  v^ould  be  worthless,  and  then  he  sped 
off  like  the  wind."  Reader,  "such  is  life  in  the  far  west." 

Besides  stock  thieves  and  stealing,  the  cattle  trade  of 
early  Dodge  was  attended  by  many  other  desperate  char- 
acters and  irregular  practices,  that  were  long  in  being 
stamped  out.  No  better  way  of  describing  these  desperate 
characters  and  irregular  practices  is  at  hand  than  by 
introducing  a  few  specimens,  for  the  reader's  considera- 
tion. 

Two  of  the  greatest  gamblers  and  faro-bank  fiends, 
as  well  as  two  of  the  most  desperate  men  and  sure  shots, 
were  Ben  and  Billy  Thompson.  Every  year,  without  fail, 
they  came  to  Dodge  to  meet  the  Texas  drive.  Each 
brothers  had  killed  several  men,  and  they  were  both  dead 
shots.  They  terrorized  Ellsworth  county  and  city,  the 
first  year  of  the  drive  to  that  place,  killed  the  sheriff  of 
the  county,  a  brave  and  fearless  officer,  together  with 
several  deputies,  defied  the  sheriff's  posse,  and  made 
their  "get  away". 

A  large  reward  was  offered  for  them  and  they  were 
pursued  all  over  the  country;  but,  having  many  friends 
among  the  big,  rich  cattlemen,  they  finally  gave  them- 
selves up  and,  through  the  influence  of  these  men  who 
expended  large  sums  of  money  in  their  defense,  they  were 
cleared.  Ben  told  the  writer  that  he  never  carried  but 
one  gun.  He  never  missed,  and  always  shot  his  victim 
through  the  head.  He  said,  when  he  shot  a  man,  he  look- 
ed the  crowd  over  carefully,  and  if  the  man  had  any  close 
friends  around  or  any  dangerous  witness  was  around,  he 
would  down  him  to  destroy  evidence.  The  last  few  years 
of  his  life,  he  never  went  to  bed  without  a  full  quart  bottle 
of  three-star  Hennessey  brandy,  and  he  always  emptied 
the  bottle  before  daylight.  He  could  not  sleep  without  it. 

Ben  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  stockmen.  They 
— 267 — 


needed  him  in  their  business  for,  be  it  said  to  their  shame, 
some  of  them  employed  killers  to  protect  their  stock  and 
ranges  and  other  privileges,  and  Ben  could  get  any  reason- 
able sum,  from  one  hundred  to  several  thousand  dollars, 
with  v^hich  to  deal  or  play  bank. 

Ben  Thompson  w^as  the  boss  among  the  gamblers  and 
killers  at  Austin,  and  a  man  whose  name  I  have  forgotten. 
Bishop,  I  think,  a  man  of  wealth  and  property,  who 
owned  saloons  and  dance  halls  and  theaters  at  San  An- 
tonio, was  the  boss  of  the  killers  of  that  town.  Great  rival- 
ry existed  between  these  two  men,  and  they  were  deter- 
mined to  kill  each  other.  Word  was  brought  to  the  San 
Antonio  gent  that  Ben  was  coming  down  to  kill  him,  so 
he  had  fair  warning  and  made  preparations.  Ben  arrived 
in  town  and  walked  in  front  of  his  saloon.  He  knew  Ben 
was  looking  for  the  drop  on  him  and  would  be  sure  to 
come  back  the  same  way,  so  he  stationed  himself  behind 
his  screen  in  front  of  his  door,  with  a  double-barreled 
shotgun.  Whether  Ben  was  wise  to  this,  I  do  not  know, 
but  when  Ben  came  back,  he  fired  through  this  screen, 
and  the  San  Antonio  man  fell  dead  with  a  bullet  hole  in 
his  head,  and  both  barrels  of  his  gun  were  discharged 
into  the  floor. 

Ben  was  now  surely  the  boss,  and  numerous  friends 
flocked  to  his  standard,  for  "nothing  succeeds  like  suc- 
cess". Some  say  that  this  victory  made  Ben  too  reckless 
and  fool-hardy,  however. 

Some  time  after  this,  the  cattlemen  gathered  in 
Austin  at  a  big  convention.  At  this  convention,  Ben 
was  more  dissipated  and  reckless  than  ever,  and  cut  a  big 
figure.  There  was  a  congressman  who  resided  at  Austin, 
who  was  Ben's  lawyer  and  friend  (I  won't  mention  his 
name).  After  the  convention  adjourned,  thirty  or  forty 
of  the  principal  stockmen  and  residents  of  Texas  re- 
mained to  close  up  business  and  give  a  grand  banquet 
(and  let  me  say  right  here,  these  men  were  no  cowards). 

—268— 


That  night,  Ben  learned  that  they  had  not  invited  his 
congressman,  to  which  sHght  he  took  exceptions.  The 
plates  were  all  laid,  wine  at  each  plate,  and  just  as  they 
were  about  to  be  seated,  in  marched  Ben  with  a  six- 
shooter  in  his  hand.  He  began  at  one  end  of  the  long 
table  and  smashed  the  bottles  of  wine,  and  chinaware 
as  he  came  to  it,  making  a  clean  sweep  the  jentire  length 
of  the  table.  Let  me  tell  you,  before  he  got  half  through 
with  his  smashing  process,  that  banquet  hall  was  deserted. 
Some  rushed  through  the  doors,  some  took  their  exit 
through  the  windows,  and  in  some  instances  the  sash  of 
the  windows  went  with  them  and  they  did  not  stop  to 
deprive  themselves  of  it  until  they  were  out  of  range. 

This  exploit  sounded  Ben's  death  knell,  as  I  remarked 
at  the  time  that  it  would,  because  I  knew  these  men. 

Major  Seth  Mabrey  was  asked,  the  next  day,  what 
he  thought  of  Ben's  performance.  Mabrey  had  a  little 
twang  in  his  speech  and  talked  a  little  through  his  nose. 
In  his  slow  and  deliberate  way,  he  said:  "By  Ginneys! 
I  always  thought,  until  last  night,  that  Ben  Thompson 
was  a  brave  man,  but  I  have  changed  my  mind.  If  he 
had  been  a  brave  man,  he  would  have  attacked  the  whole 
convention  when  we  were  together  and  three  thousand 
strong,  but  instead,  he  let  nearly  all  of  them  get  out  of 
town,  and  cut  off  a  little  bunch  of  only  about  forty  of  us, 
and  jumped  onto  us." 

After  this,  the  plans  were  laid  to  get  away  with  Ben. 

He  was  invited  to  visit  San  Antonio  and  have  one  of  the 

good  old-time  jamborees,  and  they  would  make  it  a  rich 

treat  for  him.    He  accepted.   They  gave  a  big  show  at 

the  theater  for  his  especial  benefit.  When  the  "ball"  was 

at  its  height,  he  was  invited  to  the  bar  to  take  a  drink, 

and,  at  a  given  signal,  a  dozen  guns  were  turned  loose  on 

him.  They  say  that  some  who  were  at  the  bar  with  him 

and  who  enticed  him  there  were  killed  with  him,  as  they 

had  to  shoot  through  them  to  reach  Ben.   At  any  rate, 

—269— 


Ben  never  knew  what  hit  him,  he  was  shot  up  so  badly. 
They  were  determined  to  make  a  good  job  of  it,  for  if 
they  did  not,  they  knew  the  consequences.  Major  Mabrey 
was  indeed  a  cool  deliberate,  and  brave  man,  but  he  ad- 
mitted to  outrunning  the  swiftest  of  them. 

Major  Mabrey  would  hire  more  than  a  hundred  men 
every  spring,  for  the  drive,  and  it  is  said  of  him,  that  he 
never  hired  a  man  himself  and  looked  him  over  carefully 
and  had  him  sign  a  contract,  that  in  months  after  he 
could  not  call  him  by  name  and  tell  when  and  where  he 
had  hired  him. 

The  Major  built  the  first  castle  or  palatial  residence 
on  top  of  the  big  bluff  overlooking  the  railroad  yards 
and  the  Missouri  River,  in  Kansas  City,  about  where 
Keeley's  Institute  now  stands. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  characters  that  ever 
came  up  the  trail,  and  one  whom  I  am  going  to  give  more 
than  a  passing  notice,  on  account  of  his  most  remarkable 
career,  is  Ben  Hodges,  the  horse-thief  and  outlaw. 

A  Mexican,  or  rather,  a  half-breed — half  negro  and 
half  Mexican — came  up  with  the  first  herds  of  cattle  that 
made  their  way  to  Dodge.  He  was  small  of  stature,  wiry, 
and  so  very  black  that  he  was  christened,  "Nigger  Ben." 
His  age  was  non-come-at-able.  Sometimes  he  looked 
young,  not  over  twenty  or  twenty-five;  then,  again,  he 
would  appear  to  be  at  least  sixty,  and,  at  the  writing  of 
this  narrative,  he  is  just  the  same,  and  still  resides  in 
Dodge  City. 

Ben  got  stranded  in  Dodge  City  and  was  minus 
friends  and  money,  and  here  he  had  to  stay.  At  about 
the  time  he  anchored  in  Dodge  City,  there  was  great 
excitement  over  the  report  that  an  old  Spanish  grant  was 
still  in  existence,  and  that  the  claim  was  a  valid  one  and 
embraced  a  greater  part  of  the  "Prairie  Cattle  Com- 
pany's" range. 

While  the  stock  men  were  discussing  this,  sitting  on 
—270— 


a  bench  in  front  of  my  store  (Wright,  Beverly  &  Com- 
pany) Nigger  Ben  came  along.  Just  as  a  joke,  one  of  them 
said:  "Ben,  you  are  a  descendent  of  these  old  Spanish 
families;  why  don't  you  put  in  a  claim  as  heir  to  this 
grant?"  Ben  cocked  up  his  ears  and  listened,  took  the 
cue  at  once,  and  went  after  it.  As  a  novice,  he  succeeded 
in  a  way  beyond  all  expectations.  By  degrees,  he  worked 
himself  into  the  confidence  of  newcomers  by  telling  them 
a  pathetic  story,  and  so,  by  slow  degrees,  he  built  upon 
his  story,  a  little  at  a  time,  until  it  seemed  to  a  stranger 
that  Ben  really  did  have  some  sort  of  a  claim  on  this  big 
grant,  and,  like  a  snowball,  it  continually  grew.  He  im- 
pressed a  bright  lawyer  with  the  truthfulness  of  his  story, 
and  this  lawyer  carefully  prepared  his  papers  to  lay  claim 
to  the  grant,  and  it  began  to  look  bright.  Then  Judge 
Sterry  of  Emporia,  Kan.,  took  the  matter  up-  and  not 
only  gave  it  his  time  but  furnished  money  to  prosecute  it. 
Of  course,  it  was  a  good  many  years  before  his  claim  re- 
ceived recognition,  as  it  had  to  be  heard  in  one  of  our 
highest  courts.  But,  in  course  of  time,  years  after  he  began 
the  action,  it  came  to  an  end,  as  all  things  must,  and  the 
court  got  down  to  an  investigation  and  consideration  of 
the  facts.  It  did  not  last  but  a  moment,  and  was  thrown 
out  of  court.  Not  the  least  shadow  of  a  claim  had  Ben, 
but  it  was  surprising  how  an  ignorant  darkey  could  make 
such  a  stir  out  of  nothing. 

Now,  while  this  litigation  was  going  on.  Nigger  Ben 
was  not  idle,  for  he  started  lots  of  big  schemes  and  deals. 
For  instance,  he  claimed  to  own  thirty-two  sections  of 
land  in  Gray  county,  Kansas.  About  the  time  the  United 
States  Land  Office  was  moved  from  Larned  to  Garden 
City,  Kansas,  the  Wright-Beverly  store  at  Dodge  burned, 
and  their  large  safe  tumbled  into  the  debris  in  the  base- 
ment, but  the  safe  was  a  good  one  and  nothing  whatever 
in  it  was  destroyed  by  the  fire.   This  safe  was  used  by 

the  Texas  drovers  as  a  place  in  which  to  keep  their  money 

—271— 


and  valuable  papers.  Ben  knew  this,  and,  when  the 
government  land  office  was  established  at  Garden  City, 
Ben  wrote  the  officials  and  warned  them  not  to  take  any 
filings  on  the  thirty-two  sections  of  land  in  Gray  county, 
minutely  describing  the  land  by  quarter  sections.  He 
told  them  that  cowboys  had  filed  on  and  proved  up  all 
these  tracts  and  sold  them  to  him,  and  that  he  had  placed 
all  the  papers  pertaining  to  the  transactions  in  Wright, 
Beverly  &  Company's  safe,  and  that  the  papers  were  all 
destroyed  by  the  fire.  Now,  to  verify  this,  he  had  written 
to  the  treasurer  of  Gray  County  to  make  him  a  tax  list 
of  all  these  lands,  which  he  did,  and  Ben  would  show 
these  papers  to  the  "tenderfeet"  and  tell  them  he  owned 
all  this  land,  and  instanter  attached  them  as  supporters 
and  friends,  for  no  man  could  believe  that  even  Ben 
could  be  such  a  monumental  liar,  and  they  thought  that 
there  must  surely  be  some  truth  in  his  story. 

He  went  to  the  president  of  the  Dodge  City  National 
Bank,  who  was  a  newcomer,  showed  him  the  letter  he 
received  from  the  treasurer  of  Gray  County,  with  a  state- 
ment of  the  amount  of  tax  on  each  tract  of  land,  and, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  this  bank  official  supposed  that  he 
owned  the  land,  and  upon  Ben's  request,  he  wrote  him  a 
letter  of  credit,  reciting  that  he  (Ben)  was  said  to  be  the 
owner  of  thirty-two  sections  of  good  Kansas  land  and 
supposed  to  be  the  owner  of  a  large  Mexican  land  grant 
in  New  Mexico,  on  which  were  gold  and  silver  mines, 
and  quite  a  large  town.  He  then  went  to  the  presidents 
of  the  other  Dodge  City  banks  and,  by  some  means, 
strange  to  say,  he  got  nearly  as  strong  endorsements.  As 
a  joke,  it  is  here  related  that  these  letters  stated  that  Ben 
was  sober  and  industrious,  that  he  neither  drank  nor 
smoked;  further,  he  was  very  economical,  his  expenses 
very  light,  that  he  was  careful,  that  he  never  signed  any 
notes  or  bonds,  and  never  asked  for  like  accommodations. 

On  the  strength  of  these  endorsements  and  letters,  he 
—272— 


H.   L.    SiTLER 

One  of  the  Seven  Old  Timers  of  Dodge  City 


^ 


bargained  for  thousands  of  cattle,  and  several  herds  were 
delivered  at  Henrietta  and  other  points.  Cattle  advanced 
in  price  materially  that  spring,  and  the  owners  were 
glad  that  Ben  could  not  comply  with  his  contracts  to 
take  them. 

Quite  a  correspondence  was  opened  by  eastern  cap- 
italists and  Omaha  bankers  with  Ben,  with  a  view  to 
making  him  large  loans  of  money,  and,  in  the  course  of 
the  negotiations,  his  letters  were  referred  to  me,  as  well 
as  the  Dodge  City  banks  and  other  prominent  business 
men  for  reports,  here. 

It  is  astounding  and  surprising  what  a  swath  Ben  cut 
in  commercial  and  financial  circles.  Besides,  he  success- 
fully managed,  each  and  every  year,  to  get  passes  and 
annual  free  transportation  from  the  large  railroad  sys- 
tems. How  he  did  it  is  a  mystery  to  me,  but  he  did  it. 
If  he  failed  with  one  official,  he  would  try  another, 
representing  that  he  had  large  shipments  of  cattle  to 
make  from  Texas  and  New  Mexico,  Indian  Territory, 
and  Colorado.  He  could  just  print  his  name,  and  he  got 
an  annual  over  the  Fort  Worth  &  Denver,  and  the  writing 
of  his  name  in  the  pass  did  not  look  good  enough  to  Ben, 
so  he  erased  it  and  printed  his  name  in  his  own  way. 
This  was  fatal;  the  first  conductor  took  up  his  pass  and 
put  him  off  the  train  at  Amarillo,  Texas,  and  Ben  had  to 
beat  his  way  back  to  Dodge  City. 

John  Lytle  and  Major  Conklin  made  a  big  drive,  one 
spring,  of  between  thirty  and  forty  herds.  They  were 
unfortunate  in  encountering  storms,  and  on  the  way,  a 
great  many  of  their  horses  and  cattle  were  scattered. 
Each  herd  had  its  road  brand.  Mr.  Lytle  was  north,  at- 
tending to  the  delivery  of  the  stock;  Major  Conklin  was 
in  Kansas  City,  attending  to  the  firm's  business  there; 
and  Martin  Culver  was  at  Dodge  City,  passing  on  the 
cattle  when  they  crossed  the  Arkansas  River.  Mr.  Culver 

offered  to  pay  one  dollar  per  head  for  their  cattle  that 

—273— 


were  picked  up,  and  two  dollars  per  head  for  horses;  and 
he  would  issue  receipts  for  same  which  served  as  an  order 
for  the  money  on  Major  Conklin.  Ben  Hodges  knew  all 
this  and  was  familiar  with  their  system  of  transacting 
business.  Ben  managed  to  get  to  Kansas  City  on  a  stock 
train,  with  receipts  for  several  hundred  cattle  and  a 
great  many  horses,  supposed  to  be  signed  by  Culver. 
(They  were  forgeries,  of  course).  The  receipts  were  for 
stock  on  the  firm's  different  road  brands,  and  Major 
Conklin  was  astonished  when  he  saw  them.  He  did  not 
know  Ben  very  well  and  thought  he  would  speculate  a 
little  and  offered  payment  at  a  reduced  price  from  that 
agreed  upon.  He  asked  Ben  what  he  could  do  for  him  to 
relieve  his  immediate  necessities,  and  Ben  got  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  or,  rather,  a  complete  outfit  from  head  to  foot, 
ten  dollars  in  money,  and  his  board  paid  for  a  week.  In 
a  few  days  Ben  called  for  another  ten  dollars  and  an- 
other week's  board,  and  these  demands  continued  for  a 
month.  Ben  kept  posted,  and  came  to  Conklin  one  day 
in  a  great  hurry  and  told  him  that  he  must  start  for  Dodge 
City  at  once,  on  pressing  business,  and  that  he  was  losing 
a  great  deal  of  money  staying  in  Kansas  City,  and  should 
be  on  the  range  picking  up  strays.  The  Major  told  Ben 
that  Mr.  Lytle  would  be  home  in  a  few  days  and  he 
wanted  Lytle  to  make  final  settlement  with  him  (Ben). 
This  was  what  Ben  was  trying  to  avoid.  John  Lyde  was 
the  last  person  in  the  world  that  Ben  wanted  to  see.  He 
told  Conklin  this  was  impossible,  that  he  must  go  at 
once,  and  got  twenty  dollars  and  transportation  to  Dodge 
City  from  Conklin. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Lytle  returned  to  Kansas 
City,  and,  in  a  crowd  of  stock  men,  at  the  St.  James 
Hotel,  that  were  sitting  around  taking  ice  in  theirs  every 
half  hour  and  having  a  good  time.  Major  Conklin  very 
proudly  produced  his  bunch  of  receipts  he  had  procured 
from  Ben  in  the  way  of  compromise,  as  above  related,  and 

—274— 


said:  "John,  I  made  a  shrewd  business  deal  and  got 
your  receipts  for  several  hundred  cattle  and  horses  for 
less  than  half  price,  from  Ben  Hodges."  Enough  had 
been  said.  All  the  cattlemen  knew  Ben,  and  both  the 
laugh  and  the  drinks  were  on  Conklin.  He  never  heard 
the  last  of  it  and  many  times  afterwards  had  to  "set  up" 
the  drinks  for  taking  advantage  of  an  ignorant  darkey. 
He  was  completely  taken  in  himself. 

One  time  Ben  was  in  a  hot  box.  It  did  look  bad  and 
gloomy  for  him.  The  writer  did  think  truly  and  honestly 
that  he  was  innocent,  but  the  circumstantial  evidence 
was  so  strong  against  him,  he  could  hardly  escape.  I 
thought  it  was  prejudice  and  ill  feeling  towards  Ben,  and 
nothing  else,  that  induced  them  to  bring  the  suit;  and, 
what  was  worse  for  Ben,  his  reputation  as  a  cattle  thief 
and  liar  was  very  bad. 

Mr.  Cady  had  quite  a  large  dairy,  and  one  morning 
he  awoke  and  found  his  entire  herd  of  milch  cows  gone. 
They  could  get  no  trace  of  them,  and,  after  hunting  high 
and  low,  they  jumped  Ben  and,  little  by  little,  they  wove 
a  network  of  circumstantial  evidence  around  him  that 
sure  looked  like  they  would  convict  him  of  the  theft 
beyond  a  doubt.  The  district  court  was  in  session,  Ben 
was  arrested,  and  I,  thinking  the  darkey  innocent,  went 
on  his  bond.  Indeed,  my  sympathies  went  out  to  him, 
as  he  had  no  friends  and  no  money,  and  I  set  about  his 
discharge  under  my  firm  belief  of  his  innocence. 

I  invited  the  judge  down  to  my  ranch  at  the  fort  to 

spend  the  night.  He  was  a  good  friend  of  mine,  but  I 

hardly  dared  to  advise  him,  but  I  thought  I  would  throw 

a  good  dinner  into  the  judge  and,  under  the  influence  of 

a  good  cigar  and  a  bottle  of  fine  old  wine,  he  would 

soften,  and,  in  talking  over  old  times,  I  would  introduce 

the  subject.   I  said,  "Judge,  I  know  you  are  an  honest, 

fair  man  and  want  to  see  justice  done;  and  you  would 

hate  to  see  an  innocent,  poor  darkey,  without  any  money 

—275— 


or  friends,  sent  to  the  pen  for  a  crime  he  never  com- 
mitted." And  then  I  told  him  why  I  thought  Ben  was 
innocent.  He  said,  "I  will  have  the  very  best  lawyer  at 
the  bar  take  his  case."  I  said,  "No,  this  is  not  at  all  what 
I  want;  I  want  Ben  to  plead  his  own  case."  So  I  gave 
Ben  a  few  pointers,  and  I  knew  after  he  got  through 
pleading  before  that  jury,  they  would  either  take  him 
for  a  knave  or  a  fool. 

I  was  not  mistaken  in  my  prophecy.  Ben  harangued 
that  jury  with  such  a  conglomeration  of  absurdities  and 
lies  and  outrageous  tales,  they  did  not  know  what  to 
think.  I  tell  you,  they  were  all  at  sea.  He  said  to  them: 

"What!  me?  the  descendent  of  old  grandees  of  Spain, 
the  owner  of  a  land  grant  in  New  Mexico  embracing  mil- 
lions of  acres,  the  owner  of  gold  mines  and  villages  and 
towns  situated  on  that  grant  of  whom  I  am  sole  owner, 
to  steal  a  miserable,  miserly  lot  of  old  cows?  Why,  the 
idea  is  absurd.  No,  gentlemen;  I  think  too  much  of  the 
race  of  men  from  which  I  sprang,  to  disgrace  their 
memory.  No,  sir!  no,  sir!  this  Mexican  would  never  be 
guilty  of  such.  The  reason  they  accuse  me  is  because  they 
are  beneath  me  and  jealous  of  me.  They  can't  trot  in  my 
class,  bcause  they  are  not  fit  for  me  to  associate  with 
and,  therefore,  they  are  mad  at  me  and  take  this  means 
to  spite  me." 

Then  he  would  take  another  tack  and  say:  "I'se  a 
poor,  honest  Mexican,  ain't  got  a  dollar,  and  why  do  they 
want  to  grind  me  down?  Because  dey  know  I  am  way 
above  them  by  birth  and  standing,  and  dey  feel  sore  over 
it."  And  then  he  would  go  off  on  the  wildest  tangent 
you  ever  listened  to. 

You  could  make  nothing  whatever  out  of  it,  and 
you'd  rack  your  brains  in  trying  to  find  out  what  he  was 
trying  to  get  at;  and  you  would  think  he  had  completely 
wound  himself  up  and  would  have  to  stop,  but  not  he. 
He  had  set  his  mouth  going  and  it  wouldn't  stop  yet,  and, 

—276— 


in  this  way,  did  he  amuse  that  jury  for  over  two  hours. 
Sometimes  he  would  have  the  jury  laughing  until  the 
judge  would  have  to  stop  them,  and  again,  he  would  have 
the  jury  in  deep  thought.  They  were  only  out  a  little 
while,  when  they  brought  in  a  verdict  of  not  guilty. 

Strange  to  say,  a  few  days  afterwards  that  whole 
herd  of  milch  cows  came  wandering  back  home,  none  the 
worse  for  their  trip.  You  see,  Ben  had  stolen  the  cattle, 
drove  them  north  fifty  or  sixty  miles,  and  hid  them  in  a 
deep  canyon  or  arroya.  He  had  to  leave  them  after  his 
arrest  and  there  came  up  a  big  storm,  from  the  north, 
which  drove  the  cattle  home.  I  was  much  surprised 
when  the  cattle  came  back,  for  I  knew,  then,  what  had 
happened  and  that  he  was  guilty. 

I  could  fill  a  large  book  with  events  in  the  life  of 
this  remarkable  fellow,  but  want  of  space  compels  me 
to  close  this  narration  here. 

The  life  of  the  cowboy,  the  most  distinguished  deni- 
zen of  the  plains,  was  unique.  The  ordinary  cowboy,  with 
clanking  spurs  and  huge  sombrero,  was  a  hardened  case, 
in  many  particulars,  but  he  had  a  generous  nature.  Allen 
McCandless  gives  the  character  and  life  of  the  cowboy  in, 
"The  Cowboy's  Soliloquy,"  in  verse,  as  follows: 

"All  o'er  the  prairies  alone  I  ride. 

Not  e'en  a  dog  to  run  by  my  side; 

My  fire  I  kindle  with  chips  gathered  round (*), 

And  boil  my  coffee  without  being  ground. 

Bread,  lacking  leaven,  I  bake  in  a  pot. 

And  sleep  on  the  ground,  for  want  of  a  cot. 

I  wash  in  a  puddle,  and  wipe  on  a  sack. 

And  carry  my  wardrobe  all  on  my  back. 

My  ceiling's  the  sky,  my  carpet  the  grass. 

My  music  the  lowing  of  herds  as  they  pass; 

My  books  are  the  brooks,  my  sermons  the  stones, 

My  parson  a  wolf  on  a  pulpit  of  bones. 

But  then,  if  my  cooking  ain't  very  complete, 

—277— 


Hygienists  can't  blame  me  for  living  to  eat; 

And  where  is  the  man  who  sleeps  more  profound 

Than  the  cowboy,  who  stretches  himself  on  the  ground. 

My  books  teach  me  constancy  ever  to  prize; 

My  sermons  that  small  things  I  should  not  despise; 

And  my  parson  remarks,  from  his  pulpit  of  bone, 

That,  The  Lord  favors  them  who  look  out  for  their  own.' 

Between  love  and  me,  lies  a  gulf  very  wide, 

And  a  luckier  fellow  may  call  her  his  bride; 

But  Cupid  is  always  a  friend  to  the  bold. 

And  the  best  of  his  arrows  are  pointed  with  gold. 

Friends  gently  hint  I  am  going  to  grief; 

But  men  must  make  money  and  women  have  beef. 

Society  bans  me  a  savage,  from  Dodge; 

And  Masons  would  ball  me  out  of  their  lodge. 

If  I'd  hair  on  my  chin,  I  might  pass  for  the  goat 

That  bore  all  the  sin  in  the  ages  remote; 

But  why  this  is  thusly,  I  don't  understand. 

For  each  of  the  patriarchs  owned  a  big  brand. 

Abraham  emigrated  in  search  of  a  range. 

When  water  got  scarce  and  he  wanted  a  change; 

Isaac  had  cattle  in  charge  of  Esau; 

And  Jacob  *run  cows'  for  his  father-in-law — 

He  started  business  clear  down  at  bed-rock. 

And  made  quite  a  fortune,  watering  stock; 

David  went  from  night  herding,  and  using  a  sling, 

To  winning  a  battle  and  being  a  king; 

And  the  shepherds,  when  watching  their  flocks  on  the 

hill. 
Heard  the  message  from  heaven,  of  peace  and  good  will." 

(*)  "Chips"  were  dried  droppings  of  the  cattle.  Buf- 
falo "chips"  were  used  as  fuel  by  the  plainsmen. 

Another  description  of  the  cowboy,  different  in  char- 
acter from  the  last,  but  no  less  true  to  life,  is  from  an 
exchange,  in  1883. 

"The  genuine  cowboy  is  worth  describing.  In  many 
—278— 


respects,  he  is  a  wonderful  creature.  He  endures  hard- 
ships that  would  take  the  Hves  of  most  men,  and  is,  there- 
fore, a  perfect  type  of  physical  manhood.  He  is  the  finest 
horseman  in  the  world,  and  excells  in  all  the  rude  sports 
of  the  field.  He  aims  to  be  a  dead  shot,  and  universally 
is.  Constantly,  during  the  herding  season,  he  rides  sev- 
enty miles  a  day,  and  most  of  the  year  sleeps  in  the  open 
air.  His  life  in  the  saddle  makes  him  worship  his  horse, 
and  it,  with  a  rifle  and  six-shooter,  complete  his  happiness. 
Of  vice,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  he  knows  nothing.  He  is 
a  rough,  uncouth,  brave,  and  generous  creature,  who 
never  lies  or  cheats.  It  is  a  mistake  to  imagine  that  they 
are  a  dangerous  set.  Anyone  is  as  safe  with  them  as 
with  any  people  in  the  world,  unless  he  steals  a  horse 
or  is  hunting  for  a  fight.  In  their  eyes,  death  is  a  mild 
punishment  for  horse  stealing.  Indeed,  it  is  the  very 
highest  crime  known  to  the  unwritten  law  of  the  ranch. 
Their  life,  habits,  education,  and  necessities  have  a  ten- 
dency to  breed  this  feeling  in  them.  But  with  all  this 
disregard  of  human  life,  there  are  less  murderers  and  cut- 
throats graduated  from  the  cowboy  than  from  among 
the  better  class  of  the  east,  who  come  out  here  for  venture 
or  gain.  They  delight  in  appearing  rougher  than  they 
are.  To  a  tenderfoot,  as  they  call  an  eastern  man,  they 
love  to  tell  blood  curdling  stories,  and  impress  him  with 
the  dangers  of  the  frontier.  But  no  man  need  get  into 
a  quarrel  with  them  unless  he  seeks  it,  or  get  harmed 
unless  he  seeks  some  crime.  They  often  own  an  interest 
in  the  herd  they  are  watching,  and  very  frequently  become 
owners  of  ranches.  The  slang  of  the  range  they  always 
us  to  perfection,  and  in  season  or  out  of  season.  Unless 
you  wish  to  insult  him,  never  offer  a  cowboy  pay  for  any 
little  kindness  he  has  done  you  or  for  a  share  of  his  rude 
meal.  If  the  changes  that  are  coming  to  stock  raising 
should  take  the  cowboy  from  the  ranch,  its  most  interest- 
ing features  will  be  gone." 

—279— 


Theodore  Roosevelt  gave  an  address,  once,  up  in 
South  Dakota,  v^hich  is  readable  in  connection  v^ith  the 
subject  in  hand.  "My  friends  seem  to  think,"  said  Roose- 
velt, "that  I  can  talk  only  on  tv^o  subjects — the  bear  and 
the  covs^boy — and  the  one  I  am  to  handle  this  evening  is 
the  more  formidable  of  the  two.  After  all,  the  cov^boys 
are  not  the  ruffians  and  desperadoes  that  the  nickel 
library  prints  them.  Of  course,  in  the  frontier  tow^ns 
where  the  only  recognized  amusements  are  vices,  there  is 
more  or  less  of  riot  and  disorder.  But  take  the  cowboy 
on  his  native  heath,  on  the  round-up,  and  you  will  find  in 
him  the  virtues  of  courage,  endurance,  good  fellowship, 
and  generosity.  He  is  not  sympathetic.  The  cowboy 
divides  all  humanity  into  two  classes,  the  sheep  and  the 
goats,  those  who  can  ride  bucking  horses  and  those  who 
can't;  and  I  must  say  he  doesn't  care  much  for  the 
goats. 

"I  suppose  I  should  be  ashamed  to  say  that  I  take  the 
western  view  of  the  Indian.  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  think 
that  the  only  good  Indian  is  the  dead  Indian,  but  I  be- 
lieve nine  out  of  every  ten  are,  and  I  shouldn't  like  to 
inquire  too  closely  into  the  case  of  the  tenth.  The  most 
vicious  cowboy  has  more  moral  principle  than  the  aver- 
age Indian.  Take  three  hundred  low  families  of  New 
York  and  New  Jersey,  support  them,  for  fifty  years,  in 
vicious  idleness,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  what  the 
Indians  are.  Reckless,  revengeful,  fiendishly  cruel,  they 
rob  and  murder,  not  the  cowboys  who  can  take  care  of 
themselves,  but  the  defenseless,  lone  settlers  of  the  plains. 
As  for  the  soldiers,  an  Indian  chief  once  asked  Sheridan 
for  a  cannon.  'What!  do  you  want  to  kill  my  soldiers  with 
it?'  asked  the  general.  *No,'  replied  the  chief,  'Want  to 
kill  cowboy;  kill  soldier  with  a  club.' 

"Ranch  life  is  ephemeral.  Fences  are  spreading  all 
over  the  western  country,  and,  by  the  end  of  the  century, 
most  of  it  will  be  under  cultivation.   I,  for  one,  shall  be 

—280— 


sorry  to  see  it  go;  for  when  the  cowboy  disappears,  one 
of  the  best  and  healthiest  phases  of  western  life  will  dis- 
appear with  him." 

Probably  every  business  has  its  disadvantages,  and 
one  of  the  great  pests  of  the  cattleman  and  cowboy 
was  the  loco  weed.  This  insiduous  weed,  which  baffled 
the  skill  of  the  amateur,  was  a  menace  to  the  cattle  and 
horse  industry.  The  plant  was  an  early  riser  in  the  spring 
season,  and  this  early  bloom  was  nipped  as  a  sweet 
morsel  by  the  stock.  Once  infected  by  the  weed,  stock 
never  recovered.  The  government  chemist  never  satisfac- 
torily traced  the  origin  of  the  supposed  poison  of  the 
weed.  Stock  allowed  to  run  at  large  on  this  weed,  with- 
out other  feed,  became  affected  by  a  disease  resembling 
palsy.  Once  stock  acquired  a  taste  for  the  weed,  they 
could  not  be  kept  from  it,  and  never  recovered,  but,  by 
degrees,  died  a  slow  death. 

Like  its  disadvantages,  every  business  probably  has 
its  own  peculiar  words  and  phrases,  and  in  this  the  cattle 
business  was  not  deficient.  For  instance,  the  word,  "ma- 
verick", is  very  extensively  used  among  stock  men  all 
over  the  country,  and  more  particularly  in  localities  where 
there  is  free  or  open  range.  I  am  told  the  word  originated 
in  this  way.  A  gentleman,  in  very  early  times,  soon  after 
Texas  gained  her  independence,  moved  into  Texas  from 
one  of  our  southern  states,  with  a  large  herd  of  cattle  and 
horses,  all  unbranded.  He  was  astonished  to  see  every- 
one's stock  branded  and  ear-marked,  which  was  not  the 
custom  in  the  country  he  came  from;  so  he  asked  his 
neighbors  if  they  all  branded.  Oh,  yes,  they  all  branded 
without  an  exception.  So  he  said,  "If  everyone  brands 
but  myself,  I  will  just  let  mine  go,  as  I  think  it  is  a  cruel 
practice,  anyway,  and  you  all  will  know  my  stock  by  its 
not  being  branded."  His  neighbors  thought  that  was  a 
good  idea,  but  it  did  not  work  well  for  Mr.  Maverick,  as 

—281— 


he  had  no  cattle,  to  speak  of,  after  a  few  years;  certainly, 
he  had  no  increase. 

The  "dead  line"  was  a  term  much  heard  among  stock- 
men in  the  vicinity  of  Dodge  City.  As  has  been  stated, 
the  term  had  two  meanings,  but  when  used  in  connection 
with  the  cattle  trade  it  was  an  imaginary  line  running 
north,  a  mile  east  of  Dodge  City,  designating  the  bounds 
of  the  cattle  trail.  Settlers  were  always  on  the  alert  to 
prevent  the  removal  or  extension  of  these  prescribed 
limits  of  driving  cattle,  on  account  of  danger  of  the 
Texas  cattle  fever.  An  effort  being  made  to  extend  the 
line  beyond  Hodgeman  county,  was  promptly  opposed 
by  the  citizens  of  that  county,  in  a  petition  to  the  Kansas 
legislature. 

The  long-horned,  long-legged  Texas  cow  has  been 
dubbed  the  "Mother  of  the  West".  A  writer  sings  the 
song  of  the  cow  and  styles  her,  "the  queen",  and,  in  the 
"Song  of  the  Grass",  this  may  be  heard  above  the  din  that 
"cotton  is  king".  A  well-known  Kansari  has  said  that 
grass  is  the  forgiveness  of  nature,  and,  truly,  the  grass 
and  the  cow  are  main  food  supplies.  When  the  world  has 
absorbed  itself  in  the  production  of  the  necessaries  of 
food  and  clothing,  it  must  return  to  the  grass  and  the 
cow  to  replenish  the  stock  exhausted  in  by-products. 

At  Dodge  City  now,  however,  the  open  range  and  the 

cattle  drive  have  been  supplanted  by  the  wheat  field 

and  the  grain  elevator.     In  the  early  times,  cattlemen 

and  grangers  made  a  serious  struggle  to  occupy  the  lands. 

But  destiny,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  favored  the  so-termed 

farmer,  "through  many  difficulties  to  the  stars."    The 

time  and  the  occasion  always  affords  the  genius  in  prose 

and  rhyme.  The  literary  merit  is  not  considered,  so  that 

the  "take-off"  enlivens  the  humor  of  the  situation;  so 

here  is  "The  Granger's  Conquest",  in  humorous  vein, 

by  an  anonymous  writer: 

—282— 


"Up  from  the  South,  comes  every  day, 
Bringing  to  stockmen  fresh  dismay. 
The  terrible  rumble  and  grumble  and  roar, 
Telling  the  battle  is  on  once  more. 
And  the  granger  but  twenty  miles  away. 

"And  wider,  still,  these  billows  of  war 
Thunder  along  the  horizon's  bar; 
And  louder,  still,  to  our  ears  hath  rolled 
The  roar  of  the  settler,  uncontrolled, 
Making  the  blood  of  the  stockmen  cold. 
As  he  thinks  of  the  stake  in  this  awful  fray, 
And  the  granger  but  fifteen  miles  away. 

"And  there's  a  trail  from  fair  Dodge  town, 
A  good,  broad  highway,  leading  down; 
And  there,  in  the  flash  of  the  morning  light. 
Goes  the  roar  of  the  granger,  black  and  white 
As  on  to  the  Mecca  they  take  their  flight. 
As  if  they  feel  their  terrible  need. 
They  push  their  mule  to  his  utmost  speed; 
And  the  long-horn  bawls,  by  night  and  day. 
With  the  granger  only  five  miles  away. 

"And  the  next  will  come  the  groups 

Of  grangers,  like  an  army  of  troops; 

What  is  done  ?  what  to  do  ?  a  glance  tells  both. 

And  into  the  saddle,  with  scowl  and  oath; 

And  we  stumble  o'er  plows  and  harrows  and  hoes, 

As  the  roar  of  the  granger  still  louder  grows, 

And  closer  draws,  by  night  and  by  day, 

With  his  cabin  a  quarter-section  away. 

"And,  when  under  the  Kansas  sky 

We  strike  a  year  or  two  that  is  dry. 

The  granger,  who  thinks  he's  awful  fly, 
—283— 


Away  to  the  kin  of  his  wife  will  hie; 
And  then,  again,  o'er  Kansas  plains, 
Uncontrolled,  our  cattle  will  range, 
As  we  laugh  at  the  granger  who  came  to  stay. 
But  is  now  a  thousand  miles  away." 


—284— 


(Chapter  XVI. 

Distinguished  Sojourners  at  Fort  Dodge 
and  Dodge  City 

"M'OW  I  want  to  tell  you  something  of  the  great  of- 
"^"^  ficers  who  came  to  Fort  Dodge  in  the  early  days. 
General  Phillip  Sheridan  first  came  to  Fort  Dodge  in 
the  summer  of  1868.  He  pitched  his  camp  on  the  hill 
north  of  the  fort  and  next  to  my  house.  I  saw  a  good 
deal  of  him  while  fitting  out  his  command  against  the 
Indians,  and  he  dined  with  me  several  times,  together 
with  the  officers  of  the  post.  On  one  of  these  occasions, 
about  noon,  on  the  hills  to  the  southwest,  we  saw  with 
strong  field-glasses  what  seemed  to  be  a  body  of  horse- 
men or  a  bunch  of  buffalo.  But  they  moved  so  straight 
and  uniformly  that  we  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
they  must  be  Indians.  As  the  apparition  came  nearer  we 
discovered  that  it  was  but  one  ambulance  with  a  long 
pole  lashed  to  it,  with  a  wagon-sheet  attached  to  the  pole 
for  a  flag  of  truce.  It  was  the  largest  flag  of  truce  ever 
used  for  such  purpose.  The  driver  proved  to  be  Little 
Raven,  chief  of  the  Arapahoes,  who  had  come  in  to  have 
a  peace  talk  with  General  Sheridan.  As  a  result  of  the 
long  talk,  Little  Raven  badly  out-generaled  Sheridan  (as 
has  been  related  in  another  chapter).  He  said  all  the 
time  he  wanted  was  two  sleeps  to  bring  in  the  whole 
Arapahoe  tribe.  General  Sheridan  said  to  take  a  week  and 
see  that  all  came  in.  The  old  chief  insisted  that  he  only 
wanted  two  sleeps.  He  started  out  the  next  morning 
loaded  down  with  bacon,  beans,  flour,  sugar,  and  coffee. 
Little  Raven  told  me  afterwards  it  was  a  great  ruse  to 
avoid  the  soldiers  until  they  could  get  the  women  and 
children  out  of  danger.  When  Little  Raven  set  out  for 
Dodge,  the  women  and  children  had  started  south,  to 

get  into  the  broken  and  rough  country  that  they  knew 

—285— 


so  well,  and  with  which  our  soldiers  were  so  little  ac- 
quainted at  that  day.  It  was  really  laughable  to  hear  his 
description  of  how  he  disposed  of  his  ambulance  after 
getting  back  to  the  tribe.  He  said  the  soldiers  followed 
the  tracks  of  the  ambulance  for  days,  so  his  rear-guard 
would  report  at  night.  The  other  Indians  were  for  burn- 
ing it  or  abandoning  it;  but  Little  Raven  said  he  prized 
it  so  highly  that  he  did  not  want  to  lose  it.  So  they  took 
off  the  wheels,  and  hung  them  in  some  very  high  trees, 
and  concealed  the  body  in  a  big  drift  in  the  river,  cover- 
ing it  with  driftwood. 

The  last  visit  General  Sheridan  made  at  Dodge  was 
in  1872.  He  brought  his  whole  staff  with  him.  General 
Forsyth  was  his  aide-de-camp,  I  think,  and  his  brother, 
Mike,  was  along.  I  had  known  Mike  for  some  time  before 
this,  when  he  was  captain  in  the  Seventh  Cavalry.  I  was 
also  well  acquainted  with  the  other  brother,  who  held  a 
clerkship  at  Camp  Supply — a  most  excellent  gentleman. 
During  his  stay.  General  Sheridan  and  his  staff,  with  the 
officers  of  the  post,  were  dining  at  my  house.  They  had 
all  been  drinking  freely  before  dinner  of  whisky,  brandy, 
and  punch,  except  Mike  Sheridan.  These  liquors  wc:re 
all  left  in  the  parlor  when  we  went  in  to  dinner,  and  there 
was  an  abundance  of  light  wine  on  the  dinner-table. 
When  dinner  was  nearly  over  an  important  dispatch 
came.  The  General  read  it  and  handed  it  to  General  For- 
syth, requesting  him  to  answer  it.  With  that  Captain 
Sheridan  jumped  up  and  said  to  General  Forsyth:  "You 
are  not  half  through  your  dinner  yet,  and  I  am;  so  let  me 
answer,  and  submit  to  you  for  review."  He  then  request- 
ed me  to  get  paper  and  pen  and  go  with  him  to  the  parlor. 
As  soon  as  we  reached  the  parlor  the  Captain  grabbed  me 
by  the  arm,  and  said,  "For  God's  sake,  Wright,  get  me 
some  of  that  good  brandy,  and  say  not  a  word  about  it." 
I  replied,  "There  it  is.  Help  yourself."  He  took  two  gen- 
erous glasses  and  then  wrote  the  dispatch. 

— 286— 


The  last  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  General 
Sheridan  was  at  Newton.  I  was  on  my  way  to  Kansas 
City,  and  stopped  there  to  get  supper.  I  was  told  that 
General  Sheridan  was  in  his  private  car.  I  called  on  him 
as  soon  as  I  got  my  supper.  He  knew  me  in  a  minute  and 
received  me  most  graciously.  Not  so  with  the  brother, 
Captain  Mike,  whom  I  had  taken  care  of  many  times  and 
seen  that  he  was  properly  put  to  bed.  He  pretended  not 
to  know  me.  "Why,"  said  the  General,  "You  ought  to 
know  Mr.  Wright.  He  was  the  sutler  at  Fort  Dodge, 
and  so  often  entertained  us  at  his  home."  I  responded  to 
the  General  that  I  was  surprised  that  he  knew  me  so 
quickly.  "I  knew  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,"  he  replied, 
and  then  began  to  inquire  about  all  the  old  scouts  and 
mule  drivers,  and  wanted  to  know  what  they  were  doing 
and  where  they  had  drifted,  including  many  men  whom 
I  had  forgotten,  until  he  mentioned  their  names.  He 
said  that  he  had  been  sent  down  by  President  Cleveland 
to  inquire  into  the  Indian  leases  entered  into  by  the  cattle- 
men. We  talked  about  old  times  and  old  faces  way  into 
midnight,  and  even  then  he  did  not  want  me  to  go. 

In  the  fall  of  1868  General  Alfred  Sully  took  com- 
mand of  Fort  Dodge  and  fitted  out  an  expedition  for  a 
winter  campaign  against  the  Plains  Indians.  He  was  one 
of  the  grand  old  style  of  army  officers,  kind-hearted  and 
true,  a  lover  of  justice  and  fair  play.  Though  an  able 
officer  and  a  thorough  gentleman  at  all  times,  he  was  a 
little  too  much  addicted  to  the  drink  habit.  When  Gen- 
eral Sully  had  gotten  the  preparations  for  the  expedition 
well  under  way,  and  his  army  ready  to  march.  General 
Custer  was  placed  in  command  by  virtue  of  his  brevet 
rank,  and  the  old  man  was  sent  home.  This  action,  as  I 
am  told,  broke  General  Sully's  heart,  and  he  was  never 
again  any  good  to  the  service. 

General  Custer  carried  out  the  winter  campaign,  per- 
sistently following  the  Indians  through  the  cold  and  snow 

—287— 


into  their  winter  fastnesses,  where  never  white  man  had 
trod  before,  not  even  the  trusted  trader,  until  he  surprised 
them  in  their  winter  camp  on  the  Washita,  south  of  the 
Canadian.  There  was  a  deep  snow  on  the  ground  at  the 
time.  The  scouts  had  come  in  soon  after  midnight  with 
the  report  of  a  big  camp.  "Boots  and  saddles"  was 
sounded,  and  soon  all  were  on  the  march.  The  command 
reached  the  vicinity  of  the  Indian  camp  some  time  before 
daylight,  but  waited  until  the  first  streak  of  day,  which 
was  the  signal  for  the  charge.  Then  the  whole  force  went 
into  the  fight,  the  regimental  band  playing,  "Gary  Owen." 
They  charged  through  the  camp  and  back,  capturing  or 
killing  every  warrior  in  sight.  But  the  camp  was  the 
first  of  a  series  of  Indian  camps  extending  down  the 
narrow  valley  of  the  Washita  for  perhaps  ten  miles,  and 
Custer  had  only  struck  the  upper  end  of  it. 

I  have  been  told  by  good  authority  that  early  in  the 
attack  Major  Elliott's  horse  ran  away  with  him,  taking 
him  down  the  creek.  Elliott  was  followed  by  some  twenty 
of  his  men,  they  thinking,  of  course,  that  he  was  charging 
the  Indians.  It  was  but  a  few  moments  until  he  was 
entirely  cut  off,  and  urged  on  further  from  General  Cus- 
ter's main  force.  Custer  remained  in  the  Indian  camp, 
destroying  the  tents  and  baggage  of  the  Indians,  until 
in  the  afternoon,  and  finally,  after  the  Indian  women 
captives  had  selected  the  ponies  they  chose  to  ride,  de- 
stroyed the  balance  of  the  herd,  about  eight  hundred 
ponies  in  all.  He  then  left  the  camp,  following  the  stream 
down  to  the  next  village,  which  he  found  deserted.  It 
was  then  dusk.  When  night  had  fallen  he  retraced  his 
way  with  all  speed  to  the  first  village,  and  out  by  the 
way  he  had  come  in  the  morning,  toward  Camp  Supply. 
He  continued  his  march  until  he  came  up  with  his  pack- 
train,  which,  having  been  under  the  protection  of  only 
eighty  men,  he  had  feared  would  be  captured  by  the 
Indians,  had  he  allowed  it  to  have  come  on  alone. 

—288— 


G.  M.  Hoover 
Banker  and  One  of  the  Seven  Old  Timers  of  Dodge  City 


Now,  I  do  not  want  to  judge  Custer  too  harshly,  for 
I  know  him  to  have  been  a  brave  and  dashing  soldier, 
and  he  stood  high  in  my  estimation  as  such,  but  I  have 
often  heard  his  officers  say  that  it  was  cowardly  deed 
to  have  gone  off  and  left  Elliott  in  the  way  he  did.  Many 
officers  claim  that  Custer  realized  that  he  was  surrounded 
and  outnumbered  by  the  Indians,  and  this  was  the  reason 
he  left  Elliott  as  he  did.  The  facts  are  that  he  should 
never  have  attacked  the  village  until  he  had  more  thor- 
oughly investigated  the  situation  and  knew  what  he  was 
running  into.  Some  of  his  own  officers  have  condemned 
and  censured  him,  talking  about  him  scandalously  for 
thus  leaving  Elliott.  I  cannot,  however,  see  how  he  could 
have  been  badly  whipped  when  he  brought  away  with 
him  about  fifty-seven  prisoners,  besides  having  captured 
and  killed  so  large  a  number  of  ponies. 

This  is  the  story  of  Major  Elliott  as  told  to  me  by 
Little  Raven,  chief  of  the  Arapahoes,  but  who  was  not 
present  at  the  time.  He  was  my  friend,  and  I  always 
found  him  truthful  and  fair.  He  said  that,  when  Major 
Elliott's  horse  ran  away  with  him,  followed  by  about 
twenty  of  his  men,  Elliott  was  soon  cut  off  and  surround- 
ed by  hundreds  of  Indians,  who  drove  him  some  three  to 
five  miles  from  Custer's  main  body  at  the  village,  bravely 
fighting  at  every  step.  After  getting  him  well  away  from 
Custer,  the  Indians  approached  him  with  a  flag  of  truce, 
telling  him  that  Custer  was  surrounded  and  unable  to 
give  him  any  help,  and  that,  if  he  and  his  men  would  sur- 
render, they  would  be  treated  as  prisoners  of  war.  Elliott 
told  them  he  would  never  give  up.  He  would  cut  his  way 
back  to  Custer,  or  that  Custer  would  send  a  detachment 
to  his  relief  sooner  or  later.  As  soon  as  this  announce^ 
ment  was  made  the  young  men  who  had  gotten  closer^ 
without  further  warning,  and  before  Elliott  could  prop- 
erly protect  himself,  poured  in  volley  after  volley,  mow- 
ing down  most  of  Elliott's  horses.   He  then  commanded 

—289— 


his  men  to  take  to  the  rocks  afoot,  and  to  keep  together 
as  close  as  possible,  until  they  could  find  some  suitable 
protection  where  they  could  make  a  stand.  They  did  this 
and  stood  the  Indians  off  for  nearly  two  days,  without 
food  or  water,  and  almost  without  sleep  or  ammunition. 
They  were  then  again  approached  with  a  flag  of  truce. 
This  time  they  told  Elliott  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
get  away,  which  he  fully  realized.  They  said  that  Custer 
had  been  gone  for  two  days  in  full  retreat  to  Supply,  and 
that  he  had  taken  with  him  fifty  of  their  women  and 
children,  whom  he  would  hold  as  hostages,  and  that  if  he 
and  his  men  would  lay  down  their  arms  they  would  be 
treated  fairly,  and  held  as  hostages  for  the  good  treatment 
and  safety  of  their  women  and  children.  They  repeated 
that  Custer  would  be  afraid  to  be  harsh  or  cruel  or  un- 
kind to  their  women  and  children  because  he  knew  that, 
if  he  was.  Major  Elliott  and  his  soldiers  would  be  subject 
to  the  same  treatment.  Elliott  explained  the  whole  thing 
to  his  men,  and  reasoned  with  them  that  under  these 
circumstances  the  Indians  could  not  help  but  be  fair. 
The  consequences  was  that  Elliott  and  his  men  accepted 
the  terms  and  laid  down  their  arms.  No  sooner  had  they 
done  so  than  the  Indians  rushed  in  and  killed  the  last  one 
of  them.  The  older  Indians  claimed  that  they  could  not 
restrain  their  young  men.  I  have  do  doubt  that  this  is  the 
true  story,  and  that  thus  perished  one  of  the  bravest  of- 
ficers with  a  squad  of  the  bravest  men  in  our  whole  army. 
The  only  other  officer  killed  in  the  fight  was  Captain 
Hamilton,  when  the  first  charge  was  made.  He  was  a 
bright  fellow,  full  of  life  and  fun. 

Among  the  other  great  men  who  came  to  Dodge  City 
was  "Uncle  Billy  Sherman",  as  he  introduced  himself. 
He  came  with  President  Hayes  and  party  in  September, 
1879.  The  president  did  not  get  out  of  his  car,  and  would 
not  respond  to  the  call  of  the  cowboys,  who  felt  that 
they  deserved  some  recognition.    It  was  a  long  time  even 

—290— 


before  "Old  Tecumseh",  could  be  induced  to  strike  the 
pace  and  lead  off.  But  the  cheerfulness,  the  hilarity,  and 
the  endless  jokes  of  the  half-drunken  cowboys,  who  had 
been  holloing  for  the  President  until  they  had  become 
disgusted  because  of  his  lack  of  interest  in  them,  induced 
the  general  to  appear.  Then  they  called  for  Sherman  in 
a  manner  indicating  that  they  considered  him  their  equal 
and  an  old  comrade.  Although  half  of  those  cowboys 
had  been  soldiers  in  the  Confederate  army,  this  seemed 
to  make  no  difference  in  their  regard  for  the  old  war- 
horse.  They  had  an  intuitive  feeling  that,  no  matter  how 
they  scandalized  him,  Sherman  would  be  fair  and  treat 
them  justly.  I  was  astonished  that  their  surmise  was 
right,  for  when  General  Sherman  appeared  he  handed 
them  bouquet  for  bouquet.  No  matter  on  what  topic 
they  touched,  or  what  questions  they  asked,  he  gave  them 
back  as  good  as  they  sent,  answering  them  in  the  same 
generous  humor.  Before  the  close  of  the  General's  talk 
some  of  the  crowd  were  getting  pretty  drunk,  and  I 
looked  to  see  a  display  of  bad  feeling  spring  up,  but  noth- 
ing of  the  kind  occurred,  for  the  General  was  equal 
to  the  occasion  and  handled  the  crowd  most  beautifully. 
Indeed,  it  was  laughable  at  times,  when  the  General  rose 
way  above  his  surroundings  and^sat  down  on  their  coarse, 
drunken  jokes  so  fitly  and  admirably,  that  one  could  not 
help  but  cheer  him.  He  had  the  crowd  with  him  all  the 
while  and  enlisted  their  better  feeling,  notwithstanding 
more  than  half  of  them  were  Southern  sympathizers. 

President  Hayes  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  crowd 
the  whole  day,  nor  the  crowd  to  him,  but  General  Sher- 
man kept  it  in  good  humor,  and  the  presidential  party  at 
last  left  Dodge  City  amid  strong  cheers  for  "Uncle  Billy," 
a  long  life  and  a  happy  one. 

In  a  previous  chapter  mention  was  made  of  the  visits 
of  Senator  Ingalls  and  of  the  Major-General  who  was 
once  second  in  command  at  Gettysburg.  These  were  fair 

—291— 


representatives  of  the  class  of  distinguished  visitors  w^ho 
came  especially  for  sight-seeing. 

One  Thursday  the  citizens  of  Dodge  City  were  agree- 
ably surprised  by  the  arrival,  in  their  midst,  of  the  once 
famous  political  boss  of  the  state,  Ex-Governor  Thomas 
Carney,  of  Leavenw^orth.  He  was  observed  in  close  com- 
munion with  one  of  our  leading  citizens,  Honorable  R. 
W.  Evans. 

The  Governor  said  he  was  buying  hides  and  bones 
for  a  large  firm  in  St.  Louis,  of  which  he  was  president, 
but  he  told  some  of  his  old-time  friends  of  Dodge  that 
he  was  here  to  hunt  up  a  poker  game,  in  which  game  he 
was  an  expert,  and  he  wanted  to  teach  the  gamblers  of 
Dodge  a  lesson,  and  give  them  some  pointers  for  their 
future  benefit.  The  governor's  reputation  and  dignified 
bearing  soon  enabled  him  to  decoy  three  of  our  business 
men  into  a  social  game  of  poker,  as  the  governor  re- 
marked, "just  to  kill  time,  you  know." 

The  governor's  intended  victims  were  Colonel  Nor- 
ton, wholesale  dealer,  the  "Honorable"  Bobby  Gill,  and 
Charles  Ronan,  old-time  friends  of  his,  formerly  from 
Leavenworth.  The  game  proceeded  merrily  and  festively 
for  a  time  until,  under  the  bracing  influence  of  exhilerat- 
ing  refreshments,  the  stakes  were  greatly  increased  and  the 
players  soon  became  excitedly  interested.  At  last  the  gov- 
ernor held  what  he  supposed  to  be  an  invincible  hand.  It 
consisted  of  four  kings  and  cuter,  which  the  governor 
very  reasonably  supposed  to  be  the  ace  of  spades.  He 
had  been  warned  about  the  cuter  before  he  began  the 
game.  He  said  he  understood  the  cuter  to  represent  an  ace 
or  a  flush  and  was  accustomed  to  playing  it  that  way. 
The  old  gentleman  tried  to  repress  his  delight  and  appear 
unconcerned  when  Colonel  Norton  tossed  a  hundred 
dollar  bill  into  the  pot,  but  he  saw  the  bet  and  went  a 
hundred  better.  Norton  did  not  weaken  as  the  governor 
feared  he  would,  but,  nonchalantly,  raised  the  old  gent 

—292— 


what  he  supposed  was  a  fabulous  bluff.  Governor  Car- 
ney's eyes  glistened  with  joy,  as  he  saw  the  pile  of  treas- 
ure, which  would  soon  be  all  his  own,  loom  up  before 
his  vision,  and  he  hastened  to  "see"  the  colonel  and 
added  the  remainder  of  his  funds,  his  elegant  gold  watch 
and  chain.  Norton  was  still  in  the  game,  and  the  gov- 
ernor finally  stripped  himself  of  all  remaining  valuables, 
when  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  show  up  his  hand. 

A  breathless  silence  pervaded  the  room  as  Governor 
Carney  spread  his  four  kings  and  cuter  on  the  table  with 
his  left  hand,  and  affectionately  encircled  the  glittering 
heap  of  gold  and  silver,  greenbacks  and  precious  stones, 
with  his  right  arm,  preparatory  to  raking  in  the  spoils. 
But  at  that  moment,  a  sight  met  the  old  governor's  gaze 
which  caused  his  eyes  to  dilate  with  terror,  a  fearful 
tremor  to  seize  his  frame,  and  his  vitals  to  almost  freeze 
with  horror. 

Right  in  front  of  Colonel  Norton  was  spread  four 
genuine  and  perfectly  formed  aces,  and  the  hideous  reality 
that  four  aces  laid  over  four  kings  and  the  cuter  gradual- 
ly forced  itself  upon  the  mind  of  our  illustrious  hide  and 
bone  merchant.  Slowly  and  reluctantly  he  uncoiled  his 
arm  from  around  the  sparkling  treasure,  the  bright, 
joyous  look  faded  from  his  eyes  leaving  them  gloomy  and 
cadaverous,  and,  with  a  weary  almost  painful  effort,  he 
arose,  and  dragging  his  feet  over  the  floor  like  balls  of 
lead,  he  left  the  room  sadly  muttering,  "I  forgot  about 
the  cuter." 

Now,  the  governor's  old  friends,  R.  M.  Wright  and 
R.  W.  Evans  had  warned  him  and  pleaded  with  him  not 
to  try  gambling  here,  and  even  watched  him  all  the  morn- 
ing to  keep  him  out  of  mischief;  but  he  stole  away  from 
them  and  got  into  this  game  which  was  awaiting  him. 
Through  his  friends  he  recovered  his  watch  and  chain 
and  they  saw  him  safely  on  the  train  in  possession  of  a 
ticket  for  St.  Louis. 

—293— 


As  a  character  figuring  conspicuously  in  the  visit  of 
Senator  Ingalls  to  Dodge  City,  I  must  mention  my  horse, 
Landsmann.  Or  better,  I  will  let  his  story  be  told  in  its 
greater  part  by  Miss  Carrie  DeVoe,  who  often  rode  with 
me  behind  the  old  horse,  who  was  the  only  woman  who 
would  ride  behind  him,  and  who  would  ride  behind  him 
with  no  one  else  but  me,  because  she  had  so  much  confi- 
dence in  my  driving.  I  would  often  cover  seventy-five 
miles  a  day,  and  fifty  or  sixty  miles  a  day  was  easy  work 
for  him,  while  I  have  driven  him  about  a  hundred  miles 
a  day  more  than  once,  and  over  a  hundred  miles  in 
twenty-four  hours.  Miss  DeVoe's  story  follows: 

"Robert  M.  Wright,  who,  in  the  early  days,  possessed 
thousands  of  acres  of  land  scattered  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  short  grass  region,  was  the  owner  of  a 
horse  of  such  strange  behavior  that  it  deserves  to  go  on 
record  with  the  odd  characters  of  the  border. 

"Landsmann  (a  German  word  meaning  friend  or 
farmer)  was  originally  the  property  of  an  officer  who 
served  under  Maxmillian  in  Mexico  and  afterwards  wan- 
dered north  into  the  United  States,  becoming,  at  length, 
a  frontier  county  official.  The  horse  accompanied  his 
master  through  many  dangers,  and  was  spirited,  though 
gentle  and  faithful.  But,  as  he  advanced  in  years,  Lands- 
mann was  supposed  to  become  addicted  to  the  loco  weed, 
for  a  change  was  noticeable.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to 
put  him  in  the  harness;  he  reared  and  plunged  without 
the  slightest  provocation,  and  grew  generally  unmanage- 
able—'full  of  all  around  cussedness,'  said  Joe,  who  usual- 
ly fed  and  cared  for  him.  However,  because  of  his  re- 
markable endurance,  Mr.  Wright  purchased  him  for  a 
driving  horse. 

"Invariably,  when  the  owner  essayed  to  step  into  the 
cart,  Landsmann  sprang  forward,  and  his  master  was 
obliged  to  leap  to  the  seat  or  measure  his  length  upon 
the  ground,  sometimes  perilously  near  to  the  wheels. 

—294— 


when  the  horse  came  to  a  halt,  which  was  difficult  to 
accomplish,  the  driver  was  often  taken  unawares  and 
hurled  forward  over  the  traces  for  a  short  bareback  ex- 
hibition. 

"Landsmann's  chief  peculiarity  was  his  speed.  He 
dashed  over  the  prairie  at  a  surprising  rate,  down  into 
draws  and  up  the  banks,  over  dry  beds  of  rivers,  across 
pastures  and  ranches,  never  seeming  to  tire,  and  allowing 
no  obstacle  to  stop  his  mad  race.  John  Gilpin's  renowned 
steed  was  tame  in  comparison.  To  be  sure,  this  kind  of 
travel  was  not  without  its  inconveniences,  as  Pegasus 
sometimes  fell  in  the  harness;  however,  he  always  man- 
aged to  pick  himself  up  and  sped  onward  as  if  possessed 
of  the  *Old  Nick',  which,  indeed,  many  believed  him  to 
be. 

"When  the  late  Senator  John  J.  Ingalls  visited  Mr. 
Wright,  he  was  invited  to  take  a  drive.  Not  being  ac- 
quainted with  Landsmann's  reputation,  he  accepted. 
Nothing  daunted  by  the  animal's  efforts  to  wrench  him- 
self from  the  man  who  stood  at  his  head,  the  senator 
reached  the  seat  in  safety,  and  his  host,  with  a  flying 
leap,  landed  at  his  side.  The  visitor  began  to  wish  he  had 
not  been  so  hasty;  but  there  was  little  time  for  reflection. 
A  spring — a  whirl — and  they  were  off  across  the  plains. 
Spectators  caught  a  passing  glimpse  of  the  dignified 
statesman,  wildly  clutching  the  seat  and  bending  his  head 
to  the  wind. 

"It  was  an  exciting  experience  and  one  hardly  to  be 
desired,  but  they  returned  in  safety.  The  vitriolic  senator 
was  diplomatic. 

"Like  most  of  the  interesting  characters  out  west, 

Landsmann  is  dead,  and  though  he  died  in  the  harness, 

maneuvering  as  usual,  his  master  insisted — and  perhaps 

with  good  reason — that  his  untimely  end  was  caused  by 

poison.  At  any  rate,  the  old  horse  ought  to  go  down  in 

—295— 


history,  as  he  was  one  of  the  landmarks  of  the  short- 
grass  region." 

Miss  DeVoe  knew  that  no  horse  would  attempt  to 
pass  Landsmann.  The  day  before  he  died,  after  making 
more  than  fifty  miles  and  coming  into  Dodge,  he  came 
in  contact  with  a  runaway  team,  and  off  started  the  old 
horse  whom  you  would  have  thought  was  completely 
tired  out.  But  he  ran  all  over  Dodge,  at  a  high  rate  of 
speed,  before  I  could  stop  him. 

As  Miss  DeVoe  says,  I  did  think,  at  first,  Landsmann 
was  poisoned  but  he  was  loose  in  his  stall  and,  in  lying 
down,  got  his  head  under  the  manger,  and  died  during 
the  night,  from  the  dangerous  position  he  was  in. 

And  here  I  want  to  interpolate  a  little  in  order  to 
give  the  gist  of  the  conversation  with  Senator  Ingalls 
before  taking  the  ride  described.  There  was  quite  a 
crowd  in  front  of  the  hotel,  to  pay  respects  to  the  senator 
when  I  invited  him  to  ride  to  Fort  Dodge  with  me.  The 
crowd  followed  us  to  the  livery  stable,  everyone  saying 
to  the  senator,  "My  God,  Senator!  don't  ride  behind  that 
horse;  he  will  kill  you.  I  would  sooner  give  you  my 
horse."  Others  said:  "Never  do  it.  We  will  hire  you  a 
rig  if  you  won't.  "The  senator  said,  "Bob,  what  is  the 
matter  with  the  horse?"  I  replied,  "Nothing."  "Why, 
then,  are  they  making  such  a  fuss?"  asked  the  senator. 
"Oh,"  I  said,  "they  are  a  lot  of  geese  and  cowards!  Come 
on."  He  said,  "Bob,  is  it  safe?"  I  said,  "Ain't  I  taking 
the  same  risk  you  are?"  He  said,  "That  is  so;  crack  your 
whip!"  and  away  we  went.  He  said,  "Bob,  is  he  so 
very  dangerous?"  "You  see  him,  don't  you?"  I  answered. 
"Yes,  did  he  ever  run  away  with  you?"  "Yes."  "How 
many  times?"  "I  don't  know."  "Many  times?"  "Yes." 
"Did  he  ever  throw  you  out?"  "Yes." 

When  we  returned  and  were  drinking  a  bottle  of 
"ice-cold"  together,  the  senator  said:  "Bob,  that  is  the 
best  G —  d —  horse  for  his  looks  I  ever  saw,  and  I  never 

—296— 


was  more  deceived  in  a  horse.  It  is  the  fastest  ten  miles 
I  ever  drove." 

General  Miles  has  been  frequently  mentioned  in  these 
pages,  as  a  sojourner  at  Fort  Dodge  and  Dodge  City.  I 
give  here  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Alice  V.  Brov^n,  a  former 
resident  of  Dodge  City  and  Fort  Dodge  and  a  sergeant's 
wife,  because  it  reflects  my  ideas  of  the  gallant  General 
Miles.  It  is  dated,  Tongue  River,  M.  T.,  May,  1867,  and 
says: 

"We  have  been  out  twelve  days  on  a  scout.  On  our 
return,  General  Miles  had  gone  out  on  an  expedition  with 
six  hundred  men.  We  expect  them  back  about  the  last  of 
May.  General  Miles  had  a  fight  on  the  sixth  of  May. 
He  returned  today  with  four  hundred  ponies.  He  had 
four  men  of  the  Second  Cavalry  killed,  and  one  officer 
and  four  men  wounded.  The  fight  took  place  near  the 
Little  Big  Horn,  where  General  Custer  was  killed.  There 
were  forty-seven  Indians  found  dead  on  the  field.  The 
mounted  infantry  charged  through  the  Indian  camp.  The 
only  cavalry  he  had  was  four  companies  of  the  Second, 
and  they  fought  well.  They  say  General  Miles  is  the 
only  officer  who  ever  led  them  yet,  and  speak  very  highly 
of  him.  We  told  them,  before  they  went  out,  he  would 
show  them  how  to  fight.  Everything  in  the  Indian  camp 
was  burned.  This  is  the  greatest  victory  yet.  Red  Horn, 
a  chief  of  some  note,  made  a  treacherous  attempt  to  kill 
General  Miles.  He  came  in,  during  the  fight,  with  a  flag 
of  truce,  and,  as  the  General  rode  up  close  to  him,  he 
fired.  He  missed  the  general  but  killed  one  of  the  cavalry 
dead  on  the  spot.  That  was  Red  Horn's  last  shot;  he  fell 
instantly,  riddled  with  bullets.  The  general  has  had 
several  close  calls,  but  I  believe  this  was  the  closest." 

The  writer  wishes  he  had  space  to  pay  a  much  deserv- 
ed tribute  or  compliment  to  General  Miles,  about  his  inde- 
fatigable trailing  up  of  the  Indians.  His  system  is  like 
the  wild  horse  trailers;  when  he  strikes  a  scent  he  never 

—297— 


gives  up  until  he  has  trailed  Mr.  Indian  to  earth,  and 
compelled  him  to  fight  or  surrender. 

Eddie  Foy,  one  of  the  greatest  comedians  of  our  day, 
made  his  debut  or  about  his  first  appearance  at  Dodge 
City.  He  dressed  pretty  loud  and  had  a  kind  of  Fifth 
Avenue  sw^aggering  strut,  and  made  some  distasteful  jokes 
about  the  cov^^boys.  This  led  up  to  their  capturing  Foy 
by  roping,  fixing  him  up  in  picturesque  style,  ducking 
him,  in  a  friendly  way,  in  a  horse  trough,  riding  him 
around  on  horseback,  and  taking  other  playful  familiari- 
ities  w^ith  him,  just  to  show^  their  friendship  for  him.  This 
dressing  up  and  ducking  of  Eddie  is  positively  vouched 
for  by  a  lady  w^ith  whom  he  boarded,  and  who  still  lives 
in  Dodge  City.  The  writer  does  not  vouch  for  the  story 
of  the  ducking,  but  he  does  know  they  played  several 
pranks  on  him,  which  Foy  took  with  such  good  grace  that 
he  thereby  captured  the  cowboys  completely.  Every  night 
his  theater  was  crowded  with  them,  and  nothing  he  could 
do  or  say  offended  them;  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  made 
a  little  god  of  him.  The  good  people  of  Dodge  have 
watched  his  upward  career  with  pride  and  pleasure,  and 
have  always  taken  a  great  interest  in  him,  and  claim  him 
as  one  of  their  boys,  because  it  was  here  that  he  first  began 
to  achieve  greatness.  I  think  he  played  here  the  most  of 
one  summer,  and  then  went  to  Leadville,  Colorado,  when 
and  where  he  kept  going  up  and  up.  His  educated  ad- 
mirers here  predicted  a  great  future  for  him.  This,  the 
writer  has  heard  them  do,  and,  surely,  he  has  not  disap- 
pointed them.  Here  is  further  success  and  prosperity  to 
you,  Eddie,  and  may  you  live  long  and  die  happy! 

In  connection  with  noted  individuals  who,  from  time 
to  time,  honored  Dodge  City  with  their  prescence,  usually 
coming  from  a  distance  and  making  a  transient  stay,  it  is 
well  to  mention  a  few  of  the  leading  residents  of  Dodge, 
to  whose  pluck  and  perseverance  the  town  owed  so  much 
of  its  early  fame  and  prosperity.    No  better  beginning 

—298— 


could  be  made,  in  this  line,  than  by  introducing  the  Mas- 
terson  brothers. 

William  Barclay  Masterson,  more  familiarly  called 
"Bat,"  by  his  friends,  and  one  of  the  most  notable  char- 
acters of  the  West,  was  one  of  Dodge  City's  first  citizens, 
and,  for  this  reason  if  no  other,  deserves  a  space  in  my 
book. 

He,  with  a  partner,  took  a  contract  of  grading  a  few 
miles  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railroad,  near 
Dodge.  He  was  only  eighteen  years  old  at  the  time;  this 
was  in  the  spring  of  1872.  He  says  that  he  never  worked 
so  hard  in  his  life,  in  filling  this  contract,  which  they  did, 
with  a  nice  little  profit  to  their  credit,  of  which  he  was 
very  proud;  but  his  partner  ran  off  with  everything,  leav- 
ing him  flat  broke.  He  said  it  nearly  broke  his  heart, 
grieving  over  his  loss  and  over  the  perfidy  of  his  partner, 
as  he  was  only  a  boy,  and  the  world  looked  dark  and 
dreary.  But  this  misfortune  proved  a  benefit  to  him 
eventually,  as  he  gained  a  lot  of  experience  from  the 
episode,  and  had  many  hearty  laughs  over  it  afterwards. 

A  stranger,  hunting  Bat  one  day,  said  to  some  per- 
sons, standing  on  a  street  corner,  "Can  any  of  you  tell  me 
where  I  can  find  Bat  Masterson?  I  never  saw  him,  and 
would  not  know  him  if  I  met  him."  A  lawyer  spoke  up, 
and  said:  "Look  for  one  of  the  most  perfectly  made  men 
you  ever  saw,  as  well  as  a  well-dressed,  good-looking 
fellow,  and,  when  you  see  such  a  man,  call  him  *Bat' 
and  you  have  hit  the  bull's  eye." 

Notwithstanding  they  have  talked  and  published  Bat 
as  a  robber  and  murderer  and  everything  else  that  is  vile, 
there  was  nothing  of  the  kind  in  his  make-up.  On  the 
contrary.  Bat  is  a  gentleman  by  instinct.  He  is  a  man  of 
pleasant  manners,  good  address,  and  mild  disposition 
until  aroused,  and  then,  for  God's  sake,  look  out!  He  is 
a  leader  of  men  and  a  natural  born  general,  always  ac- 
complishing whatever  he  undertook.  This  is  the  reason  he 

—299— 


was  sought  after  by  the  "gang"  and  recognized  as  their 
general.  He  has  much  natural  ability  and  good  hard 
common  sense,  and,  if  he  had  got  started  right.  Bat,  today, 
would  have  been  occupying  a  seat  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  instead  of  being  a  reporter  for  a  newspaper.  There 
is  nothing  low  down  about  him.  He  is  high-toned  and 
broad-minded,  cool  and  brave. 

In  1876  he  became  a  candidate  for  sheriff  of  Ford 
county,  of  which  Dodge  is  the  county  seat.  Here  is  his 
announcement,  as  he  wrote  it,  and  as  it  appeared  in  the 
"Dodge  City  Times:" 

"At  the  earnest  request  of  many  citizens  of  Ford 
county,  I  have  consented  to  run  for  the  office  of  sheriff, 
at  the  coming  election  in  this  county.  While  earnestly 
soliciting  the  sufferages  of  the  people,  I  have  no  pledges 
to  make,  as  pledges  are  usually  considered,  before  election, 
to  be  mere  clap-trap.  I  desire  to  say  to  the  voting  public 
that  I  am  no  politician  and  shall  make  no  combinations 
that  would  be  likely  to,  in  anywise,  hamper  me  in  the  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  of  the  office,  and,  should  I  be  elected, 
will  put  forth  my  best  efforts  to  so  discharge  the  duties  of 
the  office  that  those  voting  for  me  shall  have  no  occasion 
to  regret  having  done  so. 

"Respectfully, 

"W.  B.  Masterson." 

The  home  paper  said  that,  "Mr.  W.  B.  Masterson  is 
on  the  track  for  sheriff.  Bat  is  well  known  as  a  young 
man  of  nerve  and  coolness  in  cases  of  danger.  He  has 
served  on  the  police  force  of  this  city,  and  also  as  under- 
sheriff,  and  knows  just  how  to  gather  in  the  sinners.  He 
is  well  qualified  to  fill  the  office,  and,  if  elected,  will  never 
shrink  from  danger." 

Owing  to  the  life  he  had  lived,  it  was  urged  by  his 
opponents,  during  the  canvass  leading  up  to  his  election, 
and  owing  to  the  fact  that  Bat  had  grown  to  manhood 
under  the  free  and  easy  conditions  permeating  a  frontier 

—300— 


community,  that  he  would  be  too  lenient  with  law  break- 
ers and  evil  doers;  but  his  metal  was  tried  on  this,  soon 
after  he  was  inducted  into  office. 

There  was  a  train  robbery  committed  at  Kinsley, 
Kansas,  and  one  Dave  Rudebaugh  was  the  main  guy  in 
the  robbery.  Rudebaugh  was  a  very  bold,  bad  man.  This 
crime  was  not  committed  in  Bat's  jurisdiction,  but  in 
another  county;  still,  he  gathered  a  posse,  consisting  of 
Dave  Morrow  (Prairie  Dog  Dave),  Josiah  Webb,  and 
Charlie  Bassett,  and  took  the  trail.  He  caught  on  to  a 
scent  that  led  them  to  Henry  Lovell's  cattle  camp.  The 
posse  remained  at  this  camp  until  the  next  day  after  their 
arrival.  A  terrible  storm  was  raging,  and  Bat  was  certain 
that  the  robbers  would  seek  this  camp  for  shelter,  which 
they  did,  and,  by  the  adoption  of  strategic  measures  on 
the  part  of  Bat  and  his  men,  they  were  captured  without 
a  shot  being  fired,  nothwithstanding  these  robbers  were 
desperate  men  and  heavily  armed.  The  pursuit  and  well- 
devised  and  well-executed  capture  reflects  credit,  good 
judgment,  and  bravery  upon  all  who  engaged  in  it. 

The  successful  efforts  of  Sheriff  W.  B.  Masterson 
in  this  capture,  followed  by  other  arrests  remarkable  in 
skill  and  judgment,  entitles  him  to  the  unanimous  accord 
of  praise  given  him,  at  the  time  and  since,  and  in  which 
I  join. 

Bat  was  a  most  loyal  man  to  his  friends.  If  anyone 
did  him  a  favor,  he  never  forgot  it.  I  believe  that  if  one 
of  his  friends  was  confined  in  jail  and  there  was  the  least 
doubt  of  his  innocence,  he  would  take  a  crow-bar  and 
"jimmy"  and  dig  him  out,  at  the  dead  hour  of  midnight; 
and,  if  there  were  determined  men  guarding  him,  he 
would  take  these  desperate  chances.  This  was  exempli- 
fied in  his  action  in  saving  Billy  Thompson.  Billy  and 
Ben  Thompson,  mentioned  in  a  previous  chapter,  were 
brothers,  high  rollers,  and  desperate  men,  as  well   as 

gamblers.    Billy  was  shot  all  to  pieces  in  a  gun  play  at 

— 301— 


Ogallallah,  Nebraska.  They  wired  Ben  Thompson,  at 
Dodge,  about  the  shooting,  but  Ben  had  outlawed  him- 
self at  Ogallallah,  was  well  known  there,  and  had  many 
enemies  in  the  town.  He  did  not  dare  to  go.  Bat  and 
Ben  were  friends,  and  Bat  said:  "I'll  go,  but  he  dont 
deserve  it."  But  he  promised  Ben  to  bring  Billy  out.  Now 
Bat  was  a  stranger  in  Ogallallah,  and  Billy  Thompson 
was  at  the  only  hotel  there,  desperately  wounded  and 
shot  all  to  pieces.  The  citizens  were  down  on  him,  waiting 
for  him  to  get  well  enough  to  hang  him.  The  chances 
were  desperate,  and  Bat  knew  it  and  had  to  keep  under 
cover.  By  chance,  Billy's  nurse  was  an  old-timer  and  a 
great  admirer  of  Bat.  By  some  chance  unknown  to  any- 
one, Bat  got  to  him,  and  the  nurse  was  only  too  glad  to 
help  him  all  he  could,  secretly,  of  course,  for  the  nurse 
knew  the  chances  he  was  taking  in  helping  Bat.  Through 
this  nurse,  Bat  got  word  to  a  lot  of  his  friends  as  well  as 
friends  of  Thompson,  who  wanted  to  help  him  if  they 
could.  This  was  their  plan,  and  it  succeeded  admirably. 
When  the  fast,  west-bound  express  was  heard  to  whistle 
at  Ogallallah,  at  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  the  friends 
of  Thompson  were  to  commence  a  sham  battle  at  the 
big  dance  hall  across  the  railroad  track,  some  distance 
from  the  hotel,  by  a  perfect  fusilade  of  shots.  Of  course, 
everyone  ran  out  of  the  hotel  for  the  scene  of  action. 
Then  Bat  got  the  nurse  to  throw  Billy  Thompson  across 
his  shoulders  and  to  follow  with  his  clothes. 

Bat  landed  Billy  in  a  sleeper  and  locked  the  door, 
just  as  the  train  pulled  out,  and  no  one  saw  them.  Their 
attention  was  attracted  elsewhere,  and  they  landed  next 
morning  at  William  Cody's  (alias  Buffalo  Bills)  ranch, 
who  happened  to  be  at  home  in  North  Platte.  Bill  was 
kind  hearted  and  was  always  willing  to  help  the  weak 
and  needy,  so  they  got  the  best  of  care,  and  Mr.  Cody 
had  several  relays  of  teams  stationed  overland  towards 

Dodge  City.    Mr.  Cody,  I  think,  accompanied  them  for 

—302— 


the  first  few  days.  It  was  a  long  way  across  country 
for  a  badly  wounded  man,  but  they  made  it  all  right, 
without  accident. 

Another  man  worthy  of  note,  on  account  of  many 
good  qualities,  was  Edward  }.  Masterson,  a  brother  of 
Bat  Masterson.  He  came  to  Dodge  City  with  his  dis- 
tinguished brother,  and,  in  1877,  was  appointed  marshal 
of  Dodge  City.  He  was  in  every  way  well  qualified  to 
fill  this  position.  He  was  a  natural  gentleman,  a  man  of 
good  judgment,  cool,  and  considerate.  He  had  another 
very  important  qualification,  that  of  bravery.  In  those 
days,  a  man  with  any  streaks  of  yellow  in  him  could  have 
accomplished  nothing  as  such  officer  in  Dodge. 

The  mayor  and  city  council,  knowing  Ed  Masterson 
to  possess  all  of  the  qualifications  demanded  by  the  times, 
conditions,  and  the  position,  gave  him  the  appointment, 
to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  the  business  men  and 
citizens  of  the  town.  He  served  in  such  capacity  about 
a  year  and,  during  the  time,  acquitted  himself  in  such 
a  way  that  his  untimely  death,  in  the  performance  of  his 
duty,  was  deeply  and  sincerely  deplored  by  the  entire 
community. 

I  here  relate  an  attempt  to  perform  duty  at  that 
time,  and  the  result,  as  published  in  the  "Dodge  City 
Times,"  November  loth,  1877. 

"Last  Monday  afternoon,  one  of  those  little  episodes 
which  serve  to  vary  the  monotony  of  frontier  existence 
occurred  at  the  Lone  Star  dance  hall,  during  which  four 
men  came  out  some  the  worse  for  wear,  but  none,  with 
one  exception,  being  seriously  hurt. 

"Bob  Shaw,  the  man  who  started  the  amusement, 

accused  Texas  Dick,  alias  Moore,  of  having  robbed  him 

of  forty  dollars,  and,  when  the  two  met  in  the  Lone  Star, 

the  ball  opened.    Somebody,  foreseeing  possible  trouble 

and  probable  gore,  started  out  in  search  of  City  Marshal 

—303— 


Ed.  Masterson,  and,  finding  him,  hurried  him  to  the 
scene  of  the  impending  conflict. 

"When  Masterson  opened  the  door,  he  descried 
Shaw  near  the  bar,  with  a  huge  pistol  in  his  hand  and  a 
hogshead  of  blood  in  his  eye,  ready  to  relieve  Texas 
Dick  of  his  existence  in  this  world  and  send  him  to  those 
shades  where  troubles  come  not  and  six-shooters  are 
unknown.  Not  wishing  to  hurt  Shaw,  but  anxious  to 
quite  matters  and  quell  the  disturbance,  Masterson  order- 
ed him  to  give  up  his  gun.  Shaw  refused  to  deliver  and 
told  Masterson  to  keep  away  from  him,  and,  after  saying 
this,  he  proceeded  to  try  to  kill  Texas  Dick.  Officer 
Masterson  then  gently  tapped  belligerent  Shaw  upon  the 
head  with  his  shooting  iron,  merely  to  convince  him  of 
the  vanities  of  this  frail  world.  The  aforesaid  reminder 
upon  the  head,  however,  failed  to  have  the  desired  effect, 
and,  instead  of  dropping,  as  any  man  of  fine  sensibilities 
would  have  done,  Shaw  turned  his  battery  upon  the 
officer  and  let  him  have  it  in  the  right  breast.  The  ball, 
striking  a  rib  and  passing  around,  came  out  under  the 
right  shoulder  blade,  paralyzing  his  right  arm  so  that  it 
was  useless,  so  far  as  handling  a  gun  was  concerned. 
Masterson  fell,  but  grasping  the  pistol  in  his  left  hand 
he  returned  the  fire,  giving  it  to  Shaw  in  the  left  arm 
and  left  leg,  rendering  him  hors  de  combat. 

"During  the  melee,  Texas  Dick  was  shot  in  the  right 
groin,  making  a  painful  and  dangerous,  though  not  neces- 
sarily a  fatal  wound,  while  Frank  Buskirk,  who,  impelled 
by  a  curiosity  he  could  not  control,  was  looking  in  at 
the  door  upon  the  matinee,  received  a  reminiscence  in  the 
left  arm,  which  had  the  effect  of  starting  him  out  to  hunt 
a  surgeon.  Nobody  was  killed,  but,  for  a  time,  it  looked 
as  though  the  undertaker  and  the  coroner  would  have 
something  to  do." 

The  writer  remembers  this  shooting  scrape  well. 
Someone  ran  by  my  store  at  full  speed,  crying  out,  "Our 

—304— 


Col.  Brick  6ond 
One  of  the  Seven  Old  Timers  of  Dodge  City 


marshal  is  being  murdered  in  the  dance  hall!"  I,  with 
several  others,  quickly  ran  to  the  dance  hall  and  burst 
in  the  door.  The  house  was  so  dense  with  smoke  from 
the  pistols  a  person  could  hardly  see,  but  Ed  Masterson 
had  corralled  a  lot  in  one  corner  of  the  hall,  with  his  six- 
shooter  in  his  left  hand,  holding  them  there  until  assist- 
ance could  reach  him.  I  relate  this  to  show  the  daring 
and  cool  bravery  of  our  marshal,  in  times  of  greatest 
danger,  and  when  he  was  so  badly  wounded. 

April  9th,  Ed  Masterson  was  mortally  wounded, 
in  an  attempt  to  make  an  arrest  of  two  desperate  men. 
Jack  Wagner  and  Alf  Walker,  who  had  committed  some 
crime  and  were  terrorizing  the  town.  A  very  short  time 
after  being  shot  he  died.  A  few  minutes  after  Ed  was 
shot,  Bat  heard  of  the  trouble  and  hurried  to  the  assist- 
ance of  his  brother.  It  took  but  a  glance  from  Bat  to 
determine  that  his  brother  was  murdered.  He  was  greatly 
affected  by  the  horrible  crime,  and,  when  Ed  told  him  he 
had  his  death  wound,  he  gathered  the  particulars,  and, 
bidding  his  brother  an  affectionate  farewell,  hastily  de- 
parted to  avenge  his  death ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  made 
the  murderers  pay  the  penalty. 

Ed  Masterson's  death  shocked  the  entire  town,  and 
the  feeling  was  intense  against  his  murderers.  To  show 
the  esteem  in  which  Masterson  was  held,  the  city  council 
and  civic  organizations  passed  resolutions  of  respect,  and 
all  the  business  houses  closed  during  the  time  of  his 
funeral.  It  was  the  largest  funeral  held  in  Dodge  City, 
up  to  that  time. 

I  present  a  photograph  of  Andy  Johnson,  one  of  the 
heroes  of  the  adobe  wall  fight.  He  has  gone  through  all 
the  vicissitudes  of  life.  A  blacksmith  by  trade,  but  he 
has  never  been  afraid  to  tackle  anything  that  has  come  in 
his  way.  Always  a  busy  man,  he  has  made  and  lost  two 
or  three  fortunes.  It  has  been  up  and  down,  and  down 
and  up  with  him,  but  he  has  never  been  discouraged. 

—305— 


Coming  over  from  Sweden,  at  an  early  day,  he  found  his 
way  out  to  the  great  plains,  when  he  was  not  much  more 
than  a  boy.  He  was  introduced,  at  once,  to  all  the  hard- 
ships and  privations  of  a  buffalo  hunter,  and  came  near 
freezing  to  death,  when  he  was  caught  in  several  of  our 
terrible  snow-storms.  He  came  to  Dodge  City  soon  after 
the  town  was  started,  and  has  rendered  good  service  to 
it  by  his  thrift  and  industry.  He  built  the  big  store- 
house for  Rath  &  Wright,  at  the  adobe  walls,  and  col- 
lected many  trophies  from  the  bodies  of  dead  Indians, 
immediately  after  the  fight;  and  I  expect  he  had  the 
largest  collection  of  war  bonnets,  shields,  bows  and  ar- 
rows, spears,  white  people's  scalps,  and  other  Indian  cur- 
iosities, of  anyone  in  the  West.  They  were  considered  of 
great  value,  but  were  nearly  all  destroyed  by  the  big 
fire  in  Dodge,  in  1885.  He  worked  some  time  in  our 
hide  yard,  and  says  we  often  had  forty  thousand  or  fifty 
thousand  buffalo  hides,  at  a  time,  in  the  yard. 

The  Honorable  M.  W.  Sutton,  who  deserves  and 
ought  to  have  more  space  in  our  book  than  we  can  possi- 
bly give  him,  came  to  Dodge  in  1876,  and  at  once,  from 
the  very  beginning,  struck  a  gait  that  gave  him  front 
rank  as  an  attorney.  Indeed,  he  was,  for  many  years, 
the  leading  attorney  of  southwest  Kansas,  and  always 
has  held  his  own  among  the  very  best  lawyers  of  our 
state.  He  was  a  friend  of  the  "gang",  but  always  stood 
up  for  right  and  justice.  He  and  the  writer  ran  on  the 
same  ticket,  and  were  always  elected  by  overwhelming 
majorities.  He  was  behind  me,  as  adviser,  in  all  my  deals 
and  undertaking.  He  held  many  responsible  positions 
of  honor  and  trust,  and  discharged  their  duties  ably  and 
satisfactorily.  When  Bat  Masterson  was  sheriff,  Mike 
(Sutton)  was  prosecuting  attorney  and  they  made  a 
great  team.  It  was  not,  "Scare  'em  and  catch  'em,"  as 
the  old  story  goes,  but  it  was,  "Catch  'em  and  convict 
'em,"  which  was  nearly  always  sure  to  be  the  case.  It  was 

his  ability,  and  not  chance,  that  did  it,  as  some  of  his 

—306— 


enemies  would  try  to  make  you  believe.  Unusual  success, 
in  any  line,  seems  always  attended  by  enemies,  but,  in 
this  instance,  both  Sutton  and  Masterson  were  well  fitted 
to  follow  Cy  Leland's  example  toward  those  who  cher- 
ished resentment  against  them.  Leland  said  that  if  he 
were  making  answer  to  the  resentful  ones,  he  would  re- 
peat this  printed  poem  which,  for  years,  he  carried  in  his 
pocket: 

"You  have  no  enemies,  you  say  ? 

Alas !  my  friends,  the  boast  is  poor. 

He  who  has  mingled  in  the  fray 

Of  duty  that  the  brave  endure, 

Must  have  made  foes.  If  you  have  none. 

Small  is  the  work  that  you  have  done. 

YouVe  hit  no  traitor  on  the  hip; 

You Ve  dashed  no  cup  from  perjured  lip; 

You've  never  turned  the  wrong  to  right; 

You've  been  a  coward  in  the  fight." 
During  our  campaigns,  in  very  early  days,  Mr.  Sutton 
and  I  had  some  funny  things  to  occur.  I  regret  I  cannot 
give  them  for  want  of  space.  Some  of  them  would  equal, 
in  fun,  the  electioneering  adventures  of  David  Crockett 
and  Daniel  Boone.  Mike  was  the  making  of  our  beloved, 
talented,  and  greatly  distinguished  congressman,  now 
deceased.  Mr.  Sutton  spared  no  labor  or  means  in  bring- 
ing him  out  and  boosting  him,  all  the  time  and  in  every 
way  possible;  and,  on  every  occasion,  he  would  manage 
to  call  the  public's  attention  to  the  name  of  Ed  Madison. 
Mike  surely  was,  for  many  years,  the  big  political  boss  of 
the  great  Southwest,  and  held  the  situation  in  his  vest 
pocket;  and  he  certainly  made  one  United  States  senator, 
and  came  within  two  votes  of  making  another,  besides 
figuring  conspicuously  in  making  and  defeating  others. 
For  many  years,  he  was  undoubtedly  a  power  in  politics. 
He  is  retired  now,  living  on  the  fruits  of  his  past  toil, 
but  still  retains  much  of  his  former  vigor,  and  retains 
the  respect  and  esteem  of  his  community. 

—307— 


Of  the  number  of  old  citizens  of  the  town,  whose  resi- 
dence began  with  the  opening  of  the  Santa  Fe  Railway 
and  which  still  continues  to  be  Dodge  City,  we  find  only 
seven  survivors.  These  are  A.  J.  Anthony,  Dr.  T.  L. 
McCarty,  Honorable  G.  M.  Hoover,  H.  S.  Sitler,  O.  A. 
Bond,  Andrew  Johnson,  and  myself,  R.  M.  Wright.  Of 
these,  Andrew  Johnson  has  been  mentioned.  A.  J.  An- 
thony, who  is  now  (1913)  eighty-three  years  of  age,  is  a 
most  wonderfully  preserved  man,  as  active  and  bright  as 
a  man  of  forty.  He  goes  right  along  with  a  laugh  and 
a  song,  and  sometimes  a  dance.  Nothing  seems  to  worry 
him.  The  reason  he  is  so  well  preserved  is  that  he  never 
dissipated;  always  led  an  even,  pure  life,  and  strictly 
temperate  in  his  habits.  He  has  filled  several  offices  of 
honor  and  trust,  such  as  county  commissioner,  and  other 
county  and  township  offices. 

Dr.  T.  L.  McCarty  is  the  oldest  and  one  of  the  best- 
known  physicians  and  surgeons  in  the  West.  He  has 
lived  to  see  Dodge  City  grow  from  a  few  houses  to  its 
present  size.  He  and  his  son,  Claude,  have  a  fine  hospital 
here,  and  they  stand  today  in  the  front  ranks  of  the  best 
physicians  in  the  state,  and  enjoy  a  large  practice.  His 
son  and  partner.  Dr.  Claude  McCarty,  was  the  first  child 
(with  the  exception  noted  in  a  former  chapter)  born  in 
Dodge  City. 

Honorable  G.  M.  Hoover  is  one  of  our  wealthiest 
men.  He  made  all  his  money  here.  He  has  held  many  of- 
fices of  honor  and  trust.  He  represented  Ford  county  in 
the  legislature  two  terms.  He  was  mayor  of  Dodge  City 
several  times,  and  county  commissioner  several  times.  He 
owns  a  big  bank  of  which  he  is  president. 

Mr.  H.  L.  Sitler  is  a  retired  farmer  and  stockman, 
and  was,  for  a  long  time,  one  of  our  leading  men  in  the 
stock  business. 

O.  A.  Bond  is  pointed  out,  by  the  younger  genera- 
tion, as  the  great  hunter  and  nimrod — the  man  who 
killed  so  many  buffalo  in  one  day,  and  stood  in  the  front 

—308— 


ranks  of  the  mighty  hunters  in  early  days.  He  is  now  the 
owner  of  one  of  our  largest  drug  stores,  and  is  taking 
life  easy  in  his  old  days. 

Since  beginning  this  book,  I  learn  that  my  old  friend, 
William  Tilghman,  Chief  of  Police  of  Oklahoma  City, 
and  mentioned  several  times  in  previous  pages,  is  a  can- 
didate for  the  marshalship  of  Oklahoma.  The  president 
could  not  appoint  a  better  man,  nor  one  more  fitted  for 
the  place  by  all  the  rules  of  war.  William  Tilghman  has 
spent  almost  a  lifetime  in  this  kind  of  work.  He  was 
marshal  under  me,  when  I  was  mayor  of  Dodge  City,  and 
Ben  Daniels  was  his  assistant.  No  braver  men  ever  han- 
dled a  gun  or  arrested  an  outlaw,  and  Dodge  never 
passed  through  a  tougher  time  than  the  year  of  the  big 
fire,  the  year  I  was  mayor.  It  did  seem  like  every  bad  and 
desperate  character  in  the  whole  West  gathered  here;  and 
when  we  would  drive  out  one  lot,  another  set  would 
make  their  appearance.  But  Tilghman  was  equal  to  the 
occasion.  He  had  many  narrow  escapes,  and  many  des- 
perate men  to  deal  with ;  and  Ben  Daniels  was  a  good  sec- 
ond. Ex-President  Roosevelt  told  the  writer,  when  I  was 
walking  with  him  from  the  roundhouse  to  the  depot,  that 
Daniels  was  one  of  the  bravest  men  he  ever  saw.  He  said, 
during  the  Cuban  war,  he  could  send  Ben  any  place  and 
he  was  sure  to  go,  no  matter  how  great  the  danger;  he 
never  found  him  wanting,  and  he  paid  him  many  other 
high  compliments,  when  I  told  him  Ben  was  an  old  citi- 
zen of  Dodge  and  a  peace  officer.  I  regret  I  cannot  give 
Tilghman  and  Daniels  a  more  extended  notice  for  want 
of  space. 

I  would  not  feel  satisfied,  nor  would  I  think  my  book 
complete,  unless  I  made  mention,  in  my  feeble  way,  of  my 
old  friend  and  fellow  politician.  Honorable  Nicholas  B. 
Klaine.  Mr.  Klaine  was  not  one  of  our  first  settlers 
(came  here  in  1877),  but  there  is  no  man  who  has  con- 
tributed more  in  building  up  and  trying  to  snatch  Dodge 

City  from  its  wickedness,  and  bring  about  an  era  of 

—309— 


Christian  feeling  and  build-up  of  our  churches  and  other 
religious  and  charitable  institutions  than  he.  He  has 
labored  hard,  both  day  and  night,  with  his  able  pen  and 
valuable  papers,  for  the  welfare  of  Dodge  City.  He  and 
I,  I  am  proud  to  say,  have  always  worked  side  by  side 
in  politics,  as  well  as  in  many  other  things,  for  the  com- 
mon good.  He  was  editor  of  the  "Dodge  City  Times" 
for  many  years,  and  has  filled  several  offices  of  honor  and 
trust.  He  was  postmaster  of  Dodge  City  for  one  term, 
and  gave  general  satisfaction.  He  was  probate  judge  of 
our  county  for  several  years.  He  has  also  helped  me  not 
a  little  with  my  book. 

Now  I  can't  help  speaking  a  great  big  word  for  my 
old  friend.  Chalk  Beeson,  God  rest  his  soul!  and  may 
God  take  a  liking  to  him,  is  my  fervent  prayer.  Had  I 
space,  I  could  write  many  pages  of  his  good,  generous 
deeds.  He  never  neglected  the  sick  and  needy,  and,  in 
times  of  affliction.  Chalk  would  always  be  on  hand  to 
give  comfort,  and  aid,  if  necessary,  to  the  stricken  ones. 
He  was  an  indefatigable  worker  at  whatever  he  under- 
took, and  he  never  went  after  anything  that  he  did  not 
succeed  in  getting  it.  It  was  greatly  through  his  efforts 
that  our  fine  Masonic  Hall  was  builded,  and  it  stands, 
today,  as  a  monument  to  his  labor.  He  was  one  of  the 
widest  and  best-known  men  in  the  state,  and  among  the 
Masons  he  reached  a  high  mark.  He  twice  represented 
our  county  in  the  legislature,  and  was  sheriff  of  our 
county  a  number  of  times.  He  was  one  of  the  celebrated 
scouts  that  accompanied  the  Grand  Duke  Alexis,  of 
Russia,  on  his  great  buffalo  hunt;  he  was  also  the  orig- 
inater,  leader,  and  proprietor  of  our  famous  cowboy 
band,  of  which  I  shall  presently  say  more;  in  fact,  he  was 
the  "whole  thing." 

Mr.  Beeson  came  to  this  country  from  Colorado,  after 
spending  several  years  there.  At  one  time,  he  drove  stage 
between  Colorado  Springs  and  Denver.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  reside  in  Dodge  for  a  short  time,  owing  to  loan- 

—310— 


ing  money  on  property  here  to  a  friend,  and  not  being 
able  to  get  it  back  as  soon  as  he  expected;  but  he  liked 
Dodge,  took  over  the  property  instead  of  the  money,  and 
located  here  permanently.  He  had  acquired  a  very  good 
musical  training  in  Colorado,  playing  always  v^ith  the 
best  musicians  w^herever  he  went;  and  at  one  time  he 
played  a  steady  engagement  in  Pueblo.  When  Dodge 
became  the  big  cattle  market  of  the  central  west,  he  in- 
vested money  in  a  herd,  and  the  first  range  he  herded  over 
was  on  the  Saw  Log.  He  afterwards  took  W.  H.  Harris 
in  partnership  with  him,  and  they  moved  this  herd  to 
Sand  Creek,  about  fifty-five  miles  south  of  Dodge  City. 
During  the  severe  winter  of  1885-1886,  they  lost  almost 
everything,  and  it  somewhat  discouraged  him  in  the  cattle 
business.  He  traded  property  on  the  southwest  corner  of 
Second  avenue  and  Spruce  street  for  eighty  acres  of  land 
a  mile  and  a  half  southwest  of  Dodge,  where  he  resided 
until  his  death,  due  to  a  bucking  horse  he  was  riding. 

This  trade  was  unusual  in  the  fact  that  Mr.  Beeson 
and  Mr.  D.  T.  Owens,  who  owned  the  town  property, 
traded  evenly  and  complete,  just  as  the  properties  stood, 
each  family  taking  only  their  personal  effects  with  them. 
And  the  peculiar  fact  still  presents  itself  to  us,  that,  after 
twenty-five  years,  the  two  properties  still  remain  of  equal 
value,  as  real  estate. 

Mr.  Beeson  was  greatly  admired  by  the  Santa  Fe 
Railway  people.  At  the  time  of  his  death  he  had  acquired 
considerable  land  and  town  property.  He  was  one  of  the 
heavy  tax  payers,  and  gave  the  right  of  way,  through 
his  valuable  farm  lands,  for  the  building  of  the  new  rail- 
road. 

Another  old  friend  and  early  comer  to  Dodge  City 
I  must  mention  is  Mr.  H.  B.  Bell.  Mr.  Bell,  who  was 
born  in  Maryland,  lost  his  parents  when  very  young,  and 
when  a  mere  boy,  came  west  to  try  his  luck.  From  Law- 
rence, Kansas,  his  first  stop,  he  went  to  Abilene,  Ells- 
worth, and  finally  Great  Bend,  where  he  landed  in  July, 

—311— 


1872.  There  he  hunted  bufiFalo  awhile,  then  got  a  position 
with  a  Santa  Fe  agent  whose  office  was  a  box-car,  and 
worked  there  till  appointed  assistant  marshal  under 
James  Gainsford. 

In  September,  1874,  Mr.  Bell  came  to  Dodge  City, 
served  several  terms  as  city  alderman,  was  appointed 
United  States  deputy  marshal  after  the  assassination  of 
United  States  Deputy  Marshal  McCarty,  and  served  in 
that  capacity  for  twelve  years.  He  also  served  as  deputy 
sheriff  under  Charles  Bassett  and  several  other  sheriffs, 
was  elected  to  the  office  of  county  commissioner,  served 
one  year,  and  then  ran  and  was  elected  sheriff,  in  which 
office  he  served  for  twelve  years.  Mr.  Bell  has  been  in 
office  for  about  thirty  years.  He  made  many  trips  alone 
into  No  Man's  Land,  and  brought  out  his  man.  When 
our  Ford  Bank  was  robbed,  Mr.  Bell  was  one  of  the  im- 
portant factors  in  bringing  four  of  the  robbers  to  trial, 
three  of  whom  are  now  (1913)  serving  sentence.  In  all 
his  official  capacity,  while  very  dangerous  work  in  the 
old  days,  Mr.  Bell  has  never  shot  a  man,  and  never  hit 
a  man  with  a  gun  to  affect  an  arrest,  though  I  think  he 
has  arrested  more  people,  for  the  warrants  handled,  than 
any  sheriff  in  our  western  country.  Mr.  Bell  is  our  pres- 
sent  mayor,  and  is  putting  in  his  entire  time  to  give  satis- 
faction to  our  people.  Just  to  show  that,  in  his  energy 
and  ability,  time  has  not  changed  him,  I  clip,  in  part,  the 
following,  from  the  "Globe"  of  1877: 

"Mr.  Ham  Bell  is  the  pioneer  Hvery  man  of  western 
Kansas.  In  addition  to  his  large  establishment  in  this 
city,  he  is  also  the  proprietor  of  a  branch  establishment 
at  Burrton.  He  cuts  his  own  hay,  grows  his  own  corn, 
puts  up  ice,  hunts  buffaloes  and  wolves,  and  keeps  up 
several  other  businesses  in  town.  But  he  has  never  any- 
thing to  do,  and  will  give  you  a  trade  for  a  horse,  jack- 
knife,  meeting  house,  or  cast-iron  jail,  just  to  please  you. 
Ham  is  a  genuine,  live  western  man,  and  keeps  things 

moving." 

—312— 


A  Tree  in  Horse  Thief  Canyon 
Where  a  number  of  Horse  Thieves  were  Hanged 


■c'  •  r«  I  jt- 


Our  fellow-townsman,  and  friend  I  am  proud  to  call 
him,  Governor  W.  }.  Fitzgerald,  has  contributed  largely 
to  the  building  up  of  our  town.  He  came  here  a  poor  boy, 
without  money,  and,  what  was  worse,  in  very  poor  health. 
Indeed,  it  is  a  wonder  he  ever  pulled  through  his  long 
and  severe  sickness.  But  he  is  a  rich  man  today,  and  has 
earned  it  all  by  his  indefatigable  industry  and  enterprise. 
He  is  the  owner  of  one  of  the  finest  farms  and  stock 
ranches  in  Kansas,  with  large  and  commodious  barns 
and  stables,  and  fine  farm  house.  He  has  represented  us 
twice  in  the  legislature,  and  was  lieutenant-governor  of 
Kansas  two  terms.  He  is  a  gifted  orator,  and  ranks  high 
among  3ie  foremost  and  brightest  young  men  in  our 
state.  He  is  a  fine  business  man  and  a  shrewd  politician 
and,  mark  by  prediction,  his  voice  will  be  heard  in  the 
halls  of  congress,  one  of  these  days. 

Like  Mr.  Fitzgerald,  there  are  others  of  our  citizens 
who,  though  not  the  first  settlers,  have  contributed  large- 
ly to  Dodge  City's  prosperity,  advancement,  and  wealth, 
and  Dr.  C.  A.  Milton  was  at  the  head  of  this  class.  He 
is  next  to  the  oldest  physician  in  Dodge  today,  enjoyed 
a  large  practice  up  to  the  time  of  his  retirement,  and  now 
is  much  sought  professionally,  though  acting  only  as  a 
consulting  physician.  He  can  afford  to  avoid  active  prac- 
tice, as  he  has  made  a  small  fortune  from  his  profession 
as  well  as  from  his  success  as  a  wheat  and  alfalfa  grower. 

A.  Gluck  was  for  a  long  time  the  leading  jeweler  of 
western  Kansas,  and  was  many  times  mayor  of  Dodge 
City.  His  persistent  and  deep-rooted  faith  in  Dodge  has 
made  him  a  fortune.  He  has  the  distinction  of  being  the 
only  mayor  ever  impeached  under  the  prohibition  act, 
and  his  conduct  was  vindicated  immediately  afterwards 
by  his  being  unanimously  reelected  by  the  people.  He 
was  not  one  of  the  first  settlers,  but  has  contributed  large- 
ly to  the  building  up  of  our  city. 

Of  the  many  notable  men  that  Dodge  City  has  turned 

out,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  mention  the  names  of  Dr.  Simpson 

—313—. 


and  Dr.  Crumbine.  In  early  days,  the  "Romance  of  the 
West"  was  "Pipes  O*  Pan"  to  the  restless  youth,  and 
among  others  who  came  west,  in  response  to  the  "Pipes" 
was  Dr.  O.  H.  Simpson,  whose  mission  was  dentistry,  and 
religion  to  save  teeth.  In  his  frontier  isolation  from  the 
profession,  he  developed  an  individuality  or  style  of  den- 
tistry that  the  dental  profession  has  recognized  by  adopt- 
ing much  of  it  in  their  teachings  and  practice.  Dr.  Simp- 
son was  thrice  appointed  a  member  of  the  Kansas  State 
Board  of  Dental  Examiners,  serving  as  president  of  that 
body  for  a  period  of  twelve  years;  and,  in  his  early  ef- 
forts to  enforce  the  new  dental  law,  he  came  so  near  do- 
ing it  that  the  "oudaw"  dentists  dubbed  him  the  "Cow- 
boy Dentist."  The  doctor  always  appreciated  the  fact 
that  the  greatest  asset  of  life  is  youth ;  and  it  was  through 
the  open  minds  of  the  young  men  that  made  it  possible 
for  him  to  teach  his  methods  of  practice,  while  their 
added  genius  have  developed  modern  dentistry.  Doctor 
Simpson  tells  many  funny  stories  of  himself,  when  he 
was  a  tenderfoot  and  first  came  to  Dodge,  and  they  are 
mostly  at  his  own  expense. 

Simpson  and  Ballou  are  the  sole  owners  of  the  Wil- 
low Meadows  Dairy,  the  largest  and  finest  in  western 
Kansas.  It  contains  three  hundred  and  twenty-five  acres 
of  rich  meadow  and  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  large 
alfalfa  fields.  They  have  gone  to  great  pains  and  expense 
to  make  it  perfect.  It  enjoys  all  the  modern  improve- 
ments, such  as  gasoline  engines,  pumping  clear,  cool 
water  from  deep  wells,  ice  plant,  electric  light  plant,  cool- 
ing rooms;  and  with  screens  and  other  modern  improve- 
ments, it  is  impervious  to  dirt  and  flies.  The  milk  is 
cooled  in  a  systematic  manner.  They  have  a  large  herd  of 
thoroughbred  Holstein  cows,  and  milk  over  half  a 
hundred. 

Dr.  S.  Jay  Crumbine,  who  came  to  Dodge  City  in  the 
early  eighties  and  practiced  medicine  for  a  number  of 
years  with  marked  success,  is  especially  entitled  to  fa- 

—314— 


vorable  mention  as  one  of  the  Dodge  City  men  who  have 
done  things.  As  secretary  of  our  State  Board  of  Health, 
he  conceived  the  idea  of  the  individual  drinking  cup, 
clean  tov^els,  inspection  of  hotels  and  restaurants,  swat 
the  fly,  and  many  other  things  of  a  sanitary  nature,  that 
have  received  a  world-wide  recognition  and  adoption. 

He  not  only  thought  these  things  out,  but  he  carried 
them  into  effect  by  his  indefatigable  zeal  and  energy,  and 
his  writings  along  these  lines,  tuberculosis,  and  many 
other  vital  questions  pertaining  to  health,  should  be  read 
by  everyone.  Recognizing  his  ability,  the  Kansas  State 
University  elected  him  dean  of  their  medical  school,  and 
he  is  filling  this  position  now  (1913),  as  well  as  acting  as 
secretary  of  our  State  Board  of  Health,  with,  not  only 
great  credit  to  himself,  but  a  widespread  benefit  to  the 
public  at  large. 

In  concluding  this  list  of  Dodge  citizens,  I  present  a 
few  words  on  the  Honorable  Ed.  Madison,  our  gifted, 
greatly  beloved,  and  much  lamented  townsman  and  con- 
gressman. His  political  career  was  short,  but  he  cut  a 
big  figure  and  made  a  great  reputation  as  a  statesman 
and  debater,  for  one  so  young  and  opportunities  so  limit- 
ed. He  gave  promise  of  big  things  in  the  future,  had  he 
lived.  We  were  all  proud  of  him;  and  his  funeral  was 
the  largest  ever  seen  in  Dodge  City,  up  to  that  time. 


—315— 


Chapter  XVII. 

The  Great  Decline  and  Subsequent  Revival 

T^HE  early  Dodge  City  boomers  never  cut  the  cloth 
scant  when  fitting  the  garment  for  general  utility. 
They  had  no  narrow  vision  of  the  prospect,  and  the  per- 
spective appeared  the  same  width  at  both  ends.  As  early 
as  1885  Dodge  City  was  mentioned  in  the  "Larned  Optic" 
as  destined  to  be  a  railroad  center,  which  prophecy  mod- 
ern times  has  seen  well  fulfilled;  and  it  was  continually 
spoken  of  as  a  future  metropolis,  which  surmise  is  still  a 
healthy  inspiration,  gradually  ripening  to  fulfillment. 
Electric  lights  illuminated  the  vision  of  the  mind  as 
well  as  the  eyes,  of  the  early  boomer;  and  when  the  old- 
timer  set  about  promoting  an  enterprise,  he  had  the  con- 
sciousness of  success.  If  the  thing  did  not  succeed  at  the 
time,  it  was  the  incentive  for  the  revival  of  the  scheme 
at  a  later  date. 

So,  with  her  citizens  imbued  with  such  a  spirit,  and 
with  the  impetus  given  by  the  prodigious  business  activi- 
ties of  the  previous  ten  years,  it  is  not  strange  that  the 
beginning  of  the  year  1886,  saw  Dodge  City  becoming 
modernized.  Street  grades  had  been  established,  with  a 
view  to  future  curbing  and  paving;  a  Board  of  Trade 
was  organized  in  April,  1886,  and  was  conducted  with  all 
the  grave  formality  of  later  times  and  older  communi- 
ties, and  with  the  same  earnestness  in  promoting  enter- 
prises; about  the  same  time,  the  first  electric  light  com- 
pany was  organized,  and  also  a  telephone  company, 
though  the  latter  did  not  fully  succeed  in  working  out 
all  its  plans  till  some  years  later.  Free  mail  delivery  was 
promised  from  Washington,  as  soon  as  the  local  post- 
office  receipts  reached  ten  thousand  dollars  yearly,  but 
this  promise  did  not  materialize  till  the  spring  of  1910, 
twenty-four  years  after  it  was  given. 

—316— 


In  this  same  year  (1886),  a  waterworks  system  was 
also  installed,  and  was  first  tested  in  the  latter  part  of 
January,  1887.  The  "Globe"  says:  "There  were  six  hose 
attached  to  six  hydrants,  in  different  parts  of  the  city,  all 
throwing  water  at  the  same  time.  The  hose  was  three 
inches  in  diameter,  and  the  nozzle  one  inch.  At  the 
hydrants  in  the  south  part  of  the  city,  it  is  estimated  that 
streams,  ranging  from  eighty  to  one  hundred  feet  high, 
were  thrown;  while  on  the  hills  north,  the  power  was 
not  so  great,  the  streams  reaching  a  height  of  only  fifty 
or  sixty  feet.  The  water  was  kept  on  for  twenty  minutes, 
and  the  people  were  well  satisfied  with  the  test.  With  this 
excellent  system  of  waterworks,  and  with  our  three  hose 
companies  and  hook  and  ladder  company,  which  are  in 
constant  training.  Dodge  City  can  defy  the  fire  fiend,  in 
the  future." 

Dodge  had  cause  to  feel  pride  and  security  in  her 
new  fire  fighting  equipment,  as  she  had  experienced  two 
disastrous  fires  before  the  establishment  of  the  water- 
works system.  The  first  of  these  fires  occurred  in  Janu- 
ary, 1885,  and  it  almost  totally  destroyed  the  whole  block 
on  Front  street,  between  Second  and  Third  avenues.  The 
buildings  were  mostly  frame,  but  a  small  brick  building, 
on  the  west  of  the  post  office,  was  the  means  of  checking 
the  flames.  The  loss  was  estimated  at  sixty  thousand 
dollars,  on  which  the  insurance  was  twenty-five  thousand. 
The  "Globe"  tells  of  the  heroic  work  of  the  volunteer  fire- 
men in  preventing  a  general  fire. 

Dodge  City's  second  great  fire,  occuring  December 
I  St,  1885,  was  again  on  Front  street,  in  the  block  between 
First  and  Second  avenues,  which  was  completely  destroy- 
ed. With  the  exception  of  the  R.  M.  Wright  building, 
which  was  of  brick,  all  the  buildings  were  of  frame.  The 
loss  was  computed  at  about  seventy-five  thousand  dollars. 
The  origin  of  the  fire  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  coal  oil 
lamp  exploding,  or  breaking  from  a  fall,  where  it  was 
suspended,  upstairs  over  Sheridan's  saloon.   The  fire  oc- 

—317— 


curing  at  seven  in  the  evening,  gave  opportunity  to  save 
much  inside  property;  but,  owing  to  inadequate  means  of 
putting  out  fires,  the  entire  block  was  soon  consumed. 
As  the  "Globe"  describes  it:  "Ladders  were  soon  run  up 
to  the  roof  of  the  Globe  building;  and  just  as  many  men 
as  could  get  around  to  work,  started  in,  passing  buckets  of 
water,  wetting  blankets  and  spreading  them  on  the  roof 
and  keeping  them  wet,  while  others  kept  the  roof  well 
covered  with  salt.  At  each  of  the  upstairs  windows  were 
stationed  one  or  two  men,  who  kept  the  scorching,  blis- 
tering building  from  taking  fire.  It  was  a  hard  and  well- 
fought  battle  with  the  fiery  element."  The  damage  by 
moving  stocks  from  the  buildings  on  Chestnut  street, 
besides  houses  that  were  scorched  and  damaged  by 
water,  amounted  to  considerable.  There  was  no  wind, 
and  the  evening  was  quiet  and  damp. 

Such  were  the  conditions  and  events  leading  to  the 
establishment  of  facilities  for  fire  protection.  And  one  of 
Dodge  City's  institutions,  of  which  she  was  particularly 
proud,  was  her  little  fire  company.  It  was  the  pride  of  the 
village,  and  the  pet  of  western  Kansas  and  Colorado. 
Wherever  our  fire  boys  went,  Wichita,  Newton,  Denver, 
Leadville,  Pueblo,  Colorado  Springs,  and  Trinidad,  they 
were  feasted,  wined  and  dined,  toasted  and  given  the 
place  of  honor;  and  never  did  they  fail  to  bring  home  one 
of  the  first  prizes  for  fast  runs  and  all  around  efficiency, 
while  their  conduct  away  from  home  was  an  honor  to 
our  town,  and  always  mentioned  as  such  by  the  town 
of  which  they  were  the  guests.  Their  trim,  neat,  and 
gentlemanly  appearance  was  also  universally  remarked, 
and  favorably  commented  upon. 

It  is  a  notorious  fact  and  worthy  of  note  that  the 
climate  around  Dodge  City  is  conducive  to  speed.  Parties 
from  Dodge,  Mr.  Sam  Stubbs,  William  Tilghman,  and 
others,  have  gone  east  and  bought  up  and  brought  back 
to  Dodge,  old,  broken-down  race  horses.  Under  good 
treatment  and  care,  these  horses  would  not  only  regain 

—318— 


their  former  speed,  but  would  way  yonder  surpass  it,  and 
would  be  taken  back  east  and  beat  their  former  record 
and  win  many  races.  It  was  the  same  way  with  young 
athletes.  They  would  come  to  Dodge,  join  our  fire  com- 
pany, and  many  of  them  turn  out  even-time  men;  and 
that  is  why  our  little  fire  company  was  always  to  the 
front.  Dodge  was  also  the  home  of  some  of  the  speediest 
wild  animals  on  earth;!  for  instance,  the  antelope,  the 
little  red,  swift  or  prairie  fox,  the  wild  horse,  deer,  elk, 
and,  last  but  not  least,  the  jack  rabbit.  Perhaps  speed 
was  in  the  air — or  climate. 

The  close  of  Dodge  City's  first  great  epoch  of  pros- 
perity was  further  marked  by  many  projects  for  railroad 
building,  most  of  which,  however,  fell  through  to  a  great- 
er or  less  extent.  When  the  Bucklin  branch  was  built, 
the  intended  extension  of  the  road  was  through  Arkan- 
sas, Kansas,  and  Colorado;  but  Ford  county  voted  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  bonds,  to  aid  in  this  enter- 
prise, and  the  Bucklin  branch  was  the  limit.  On  Septem- 
ber 30th,  1887,  the  "Globe"  said  arrangements  had  been 
perfected  for  the  grading,  tieing,  and  laying  of  iron  on 
the  Arkansas,  Kansas  &  Colorado  Railroad,  which  was  to 
be  built,  with  a  connection  with  the  Rock  Island  at  Buck- 
lin, to  Dodge  City,  and  "which  must  be  completed  by 
December  31st,  to  earn  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  in 
county  bonds,  voted  to  said  road  to  aid  in  its  construc- 
tion. The  president,  Mr.  C.  D.  Perry,  has  just  returned 
from  the  East,  where  he  arranged  for  all  necessary  ma- 
terial, and  graders  have  gone  to  work."  The  Wichita  & 
Western  was  looked  for — it  was  always  an  ignis  fatuus 
in  railroad  projects — but  it  never  appeared.  About  this 
time  the  Montezuma  railroad  was  considered,  and  was 
built  by  A.  T.  Soule.  The  road  was  abandoned,  and  the 
rails  and  ties  taken  up.  Some  traces  of  the  old  road  bed 
are  yet  plain. 

One  of  the  institutions  of  this  period,  of  which  Dodge 

City  was  justly  proud,  and  which  carried  her  peculiar  in- 

—319— 


dividuality  and  atmosphere  from  one  end  of  the  country 
to  the  other,  was  the  famous  "Cowboy  Band".  This  band 
was  organized  with  a  membership  of  eighteen  men,  in- 
cluding drum  major  and  color  bearer.  The  band  wore 
the  uniform  of  the  cowboy.  A  large  sombrero  took  the 
place  of  the  ordinary  hat,  while  a  blue  flannel  shirt  was 
substituted  for  the  white-bosomed  shirt,  and  a  silk  scarf 
took  the  place  of  a  neck  tie.  Leather  leggings,  supported 
by  a  cartridge  belt  and  scabbard,  a  navy  six-shooter,  and 
spurs  on  boots  completed  the  dress  of  this  famous  band 
of  musicians. 

The  "St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat"  once  printed  a  pic- 
ture of  the  band,  showing  Professor  Eastman  (the  direc- 
tor) using  a  six-shooter  to  beat  the  time.  A  reporter  on 
the  paper  asked  the  professor  what  he  swung  that  gun 
for,  and  was  told  it  was  his  baton.  "Is  it  loaded?"  asked 
the  reporter.  "Yes."  "What  for?"  "To  kill  the  first  man 
who  strikes  a  false  note,"  was  the  professor's  reply. 

The  Cowboy  Band  went  over  a  larger  scope  of  coun- 
try and  was  the  best-advertised  band  of  any  band,  east 
or  west,  that  was  ever  organized.  It  attracted  more  at- 
tention wherever  it  went,  not  because  it  discoursed  more 
beautiful  music  than  any  other  band — although  the  mem- 
bers were  highly  complimented  for  their  talent  as  musi- 
cians— ^but  because  of  its  unique  appearance.  After  its 
fame  became  known,  it  was  invited  to  a  great  many  cele- 
brated gatherings;  for  instance,  to  Washington  City,  when 
President  Harrison  was  inaugurated,  and  my!  what  a 
swath  the  bunch  did  cut.  People  just  went  wild  over 
them,  I  expect  because  many  of  them  had  never  seen  a 
cowboy  before;  and  their  uniforms  were  a  wonder  to 
them.  With  their  chapps  and  spurs  and  woolly  leather 
leggings,  belts  and  six-shooters,  quirts,  etc.,  it  was  indeed 
a  sight  to  the  people,  and  crowds  followed  in  their  wake, 
when  they  marched  down  Pennsylvania  avenue.  They 
liked  to  never  got  home.  They  were  taken  all  around  the 
country,  and  they  were  actually  quarreled  over,  as  to 

—320— 


John  Riney 
One  of  the  Seven  Old  Timers  of  Dodge  City 


what  city  or  convention  they  would  go  to  next.  They 
were  loaded  down  with  all  sorts  and  kinds  of  trophies 
and  presents,  and  even  money  was  forced  upon  them. 

Colonel  Hunter,  president  of  the  St.  Louis  stock- 
men's convention,  and  Mr.  Rainwater,  mayor  of  St.  Louis, 
entertained  the  Cowboy  Band  handsomely;  they  dined 
them  and  wined  them  and  gave  them  the  freedom  of  the 
city,  and  none  of  them  was  allowed  to  spend  a  cent.  At  a 
banquet,  given  them  by  Mr.  Rainwater  at  his  private 
residence,  one  of  the  band,  a  tall,  raw-boned,  awkward, 
ungainly  man,  George  Horter  by  name,  when  they  were 
seated  at  the  banquet  board,  took  up  his  finger  bowl  and 
drank  the  water.  The  other  boys  noticed  this  and  were 
embarrassed  at  it.  Mr.  Rainwater  came  nobly  to  the 
rescue  by  taking  up  his  finger  bowl,  also,  and  drinking 
from  it  to  the  health  of  the  Cowboy  Band. 

While  the  band  was  in  Topeka,  they  were  invited  to 
a  banquet,  given  by  the  great  lawyer  and  prince  of  good 
fellows.  Captain  George  R.  Peck,  general  solicitor  of  the 
Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railroad.  During  the  ban- 
quet, this  same  George  Horter  said:  "'Captain  Peck!' 
Why,  nearly  twenty  years  ago  my  captain  was  named 
Peck."  At  that.  Captain  Peck  said:  "What  regiment  and 
company?"  George  told  him,  when  they  both  jumped  up 
and  hugged  each  other.  Such  a  scene  you  never  wit- 
nessed. They  both  almost  wept  in  each  other's  arms. 
After  twenty  years,  to  be  brought  together  in  this  way! 
It  was  touching,  to  say  the  least. 

"The  Pueblo  Chieftain,"  in  an  account  of  the  cattle- 
men's convention,  held  in  Dodge  City,  April  13th,  1882, 
says: 

"The  cattlemen's  convention  adjourned  yesterday, 
and  the  proceedings  wound  up  last  night  with  the  grand- 
est ball  and  banquet  ever  held  in  western  Kansas.  It  is 
estimated  that  the  stockmen  here  represented  over  fifty 
million  dollars.  Just  think  of  that  amount  of  money,  in 
one  hall,  in  a  western  town.   The  hall  was  splendidly 

—321— 


decorated  by  the  ladies  of  Dodge.  Evergreen  anchors, 
wreaths,  crosses,  and  other  emblems,  with  a  number  of 
fine  pictures  decorated  the  walls.  Among  the  latter  were 
several  splendid  oil  paintings,  the  work  of  Mrs.  Chalk 
Beeson.  The  ball  was  a  masquerade  affair.  The  music 
was  furnished  by  the  Cowboy  Band,  and  the  prompting 
was  done  by  Mr.  Beeson,  the  best  in  the  business.  The 
banquet  was  in  Cox's  very  best  style,  and  was  a  magnifi- 
cent affair." 

The  Kansas  City  papers  reported  during  the  exposi- 
tion of  1886:  "The  Cowboy  Band  elicited  words  of  praise 
from  fifteen  thousand  visitors  yesterday.  This  band  is 
composed  of  real  cowboys,  not  soft-handed  dudes  in  dis- 
guise, as  some  had  supposed  before  seeing  them." 

The  Cowboy  Band  was  organized  in  1881,  after 
which  time  it  gradually  grew  into  prominence  until  it 
gained  for  itself  a  world-wide  reputation.  The  first  time 
the  boys  appeared  in  public  as  the  Cowboy  Band  was  in 
188 1,  when  they  furnished  music  for  the  Topeka  fair.  In 
1884  they  attended  the  Cattlemen's  National  Convention 
at  St.  Louis,  where  they  were  presented  with  several  mag- 
nificent banners  as  a  token  of  the  high  appreciation  by 
the  people  of  St.  Louis  for  the  excellent  music  the  boys 
furnished  them.  On  the  trip  to  St.  Louis  they  also  visited 
Chicago,  St.  Paul,  Milwaukee,  and  several  other  impor- 
tant cities,  and  on  all  occasions  were  received  by  the  people 
in  a  manner  which  showed  their  love  for  good  music. 

In  1885  they  made  their  second  visit  to  St.  Louis,  and 
in  1886  visited  Pueblo  and  Denver,  where  they  were 
received  even  in  a  more  royal  manner  than  in  the  eastern 
cities.  And  the  boys  were  often  heard  to  boast  of  the 
kind  treatment  they  received  at  the  hands  of  our  good 
neighbors  of  the  State  of  Colorado. 

The  abandonment  of  Fort  Dodge,  the  settlement  of 

the  military  reservation,  and  the  establishment  of  the 

Soldiers'  Home,  were  important  steps  in  the  seeming 

course  of  advancement,  in  this  period  of  Dodge  City's 

—322— 


history.  The  abandonment  of  Fort  Dodge  as  a  military 
post,  in  June,  1882,  created  surprise  among  the  Dodge 
City  people  and  settlers  generally.  With  the  abandon- 
ment of  the  fort,  the  people  would  have  no  protection 
against  Indian  raids.  But  the  troops  stationed  at  Fort 
Dodge  were  sent,  one  company  to  Fort  Reno,  one  com- 
pany to  Fort  Supply,  and  the  third  company  to  Fort  El- 
liott, Texas,  where  they  could  be  in  proximity  to  the  In- 
dian reservations. 

Fort  Dodge,  after  its  abandonment  by  the  military, 
was  partially  demolished,  many  buildings  being  removed. 
However,  the  rebuilding  and  repairing  took  place,  and 
the  establishment  of  the  Soldiers'  Home  sustained  the 
character  of  the  famous  post.  The  establishment  of  this 
Home  was  indicated  as  early  as  the  first  part  of  1883,  a 
resolution  having  been  introduced  in  the  Kansas  legisla- 
ture, memorializing  congress  to  cede  the  Fort  Dodge  mili- 
tary reservation  for  that  purpose.  But  it  was  not  until 
1887  that  the  Home  was  established. 

Late  in  May,  1886,  a  sudden  rush  for  settlement,  on 
the  Fort  Dodge  reservation  was  made,  early  one  Monday 
morning,  and  a  hundred  or  more  claims  staked  off,  be- 
tween Sunday  night  at  twelve  o'clock  and  Monday  morn- 
ing before  sunrise.  No  one  appeared  to  know  how  the 
reservation  happened  to  be  thrown  upon  the  market  all 
of  a  sudden,  and  no  one  stopped  to  inquire,  but  went 
right  along  with  settling  and  improving  some  portion  of 
the  reservation,  regardless  of  what  the  outcome  might  be. 
The  people  were  perfectly  wild  with  the  excitement  oc- 
casioned by  this  mysterious  move.  Every  available  team 
in  the  city  was  employed  to  haul  lumber;  carpenters  were 
in  demand,  who,  after  being  hired  to  do  a  little  midnight 
job  in  the  way  of  erecting  a  claim  house,  refused  to  work 
for  their  employers,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  hired  teams 
and  went  to  the  reservation  with  lumber,  squatted  upon 
a  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  land,  and  erected  a  house 

for  themselves. 

—323— 


Now  all  this  was  wholly  unwarranted  on  the  squat- 
ters' part.  The  reservation  had  not  been  thrown  open  to 
settlement,  and  the  only  foothold  the  premature  settlers 
gained  was  that  of  "squatters'  right"  which  gave  him 
the  first  right  to  purchase,  in  case  the  land  was  put  up  for 
sale.  The  reservation  lands  were  subsequently  opened  to 
settlement,  on  terms  prescribed  by  the  government,  by 
purchase  and  priority  in  settlement.  The  original  "squat- 
ters," except  in  a  few  instances,  relinquished  their  rights, 
and  others  proved  up  the  claims. 

Not  the  least  of  the  signs  of  modernism,  in  this  par- 
ticular epoch  of  Dodge  City,  was  the  somewhat  uncertain, 
but  none  the  less  significant  moves  toward  certain  social 
reforms.  As  is  usual  with  the  beginnings  of  such  attempts, 
they  took  the  form  of  the  suppressing  of  profanity  in 
public,  and  the  establishment  of  a  stricter  form  of  Sun- 
day observance.  An  example  of  one  of  the  first  protests 
against  profanity  is  that  of  Postmaster  Reamer,  who, 
through  the  "Globe"  of  December  21st,  1886,  "protests 
against  the  profanity,  and  in  the  post  office  especially,  by 
the  ladies  (?),  if  such  they  can  be  called;  more  especially 
those  that  swear  just  because  they  do  not  get  a  letter." 

In  early  times,  Sunday  business  was  the  same  as 
week-day  business.  In  the  frontier  days,  stores  were  kept 
open  on  Sundays  to  accommodate  the  cattle  and  plains 
traders.  Evidently  the  first  efforts  toward  changing  these 
conditions  were,  at  first,  regarded  as  almost  hopeless.  The 
following  is  significant:  "Reverend  O.  W.  Wright  has 
presented  a  petition  from  the  citizens  of  Dodge  City  to 
our  merchants,  requesting  them  to  close  their  stores  on 
the  Sabbath  day.  He  obtained  the  names  of  a  majority 
of  the  merchants,  but  as  all  will  not  agree  to  close,  the 
present  effort  will  stop  here." 

By  1883,  however,  efforts  along  this  line  were  more 
successful.  A  telegram  from  Dodge  City,  in  the  spring 
of  that  year,  said  of  the  town:  "For  the  first  time  since 
its  existence,  it  had,  last  Sunday,  the  semblance  of  Sab- 

—324— 


bath.  All  business  houses  and  saloons,  dance  halls  and 
gambling  halls  were  closed.  There  is  universal  rejoicing 
over  this,  and  it  is  felt  that  all  measures  of  reform,  as 
contemplated  by  the  city  council,  w^ill  be  carried  out. 
Many  of  the  gamblers  and  prostitutes  are  leaving,  most 
of  them  going  to  Caldwell.  Now  if  Caldwell  could  only 
be  reformed." 

With  all  these  movements  toward  development,  im- 
provement, and  reform,  following  directly  after  her  great 
prosperity  of  earlier  days,  it  would  seem  that  Dodge  City, 
in  1885,  was  on  the  certain  road  to  further  advancement, 
steady  progress,  and  uninterrupted  growth  and  prosperity. 
But,  lo  and  behold!  a  new  aspect  came  over  the  spirit  of 
our  dreams.  Dodge  City,  once  famous  for  its  extraordin- 
ary prosperity,  its  lavishness  in  prodigality  and  possession 
of  wealth,  at  one  fell  swoop  was  reduced  to  extreme 
poverty,  almost  want.  The  change  was  sharp  and  quick, 
and  almost  without  warning.  The  dead  line  was  moved 
to  the  state  line,  and  Dodge  City  lost  the  cattle  trade; 
she  also  lost  a  tremendous  freight  business  by  wagon, 
the  buffalo  hide  and  bone  industry,  and  other  business 
incident  to  a  frontier  country.  Railroads,  building  on  the 
south,  had  absorbed  the  freight  by  wagon  route;  and 
farmers,  settling  on  the  lands,  further  reduced  the  cattle 
trade.  Under  this  pressure  of  civilization,  the  town  stag- 
gered under  the  blow.  Even  the  great  Santa  Fe  Railroad 
felt  the  loss,  for  the  company  was  put  into  the  hands  of 
a  receiver,  and  the  road's  operating  expenses  were  cut  in 
two.  It  was  the  Santa  Fe  Railway  which  gave  Dodge 
City  her  start  in  pioneer  life;  and  with  this  confidence, 
we  felt  if  everything  else  failed  the  road  would  continue 
to  be  a  source  of  revenue  to  the  city.  Such  depression, 
following  so  closely  on  the  heels  of  her  great  affluence, 
was  truly  paralyzing. 

For  ten  long  years.  Dodge  City  was  suspended  in 

reverses.    But  during  this   poverty-stricken   period,   the 

process  of  liquidation  was  slowly  being  carried  out.  Dodge 

—325— 


City  had  had  so  much  faith  in  her  progress  and  former 
wealth,  that  a  calamity  was  unexpected;  she  lost  sight  of 
the  fact  that  the  unnatural  extravagance  of  that  former 
wealth  and  progress  was  bound  to  bring  a  reaction,  soon- 
er or  later.  In  this  depression,  property  went  down  to 
fiwc  and  ten  cents  on  the  dollar,  in  value,  or  you  could 
buy  it  for  a  song  and  sing  it  yourself.  People  would  not 
pay  taxes,  and  the  county  became  possessed  of  much 
valuable  real  estate,  while  hundreds  of  speculators  were 
purchasers  of  tax  titles.  Many  of  the  business  houses 
closed,  and  large  numbers  of  residences  were  without 
tenants.  Parties  were  invited  to  live  in  them  rent  free,  so 
the  insurance  could  be  kept  up.  And  the  same  depression 
was  felt  in  land  and  cattle.  Good  cows  sold  for  eight  to 
ten  dollars.  Land  around  Dodge  sold  as  low  as  fifty  cents 
per  acre.  The  writer's  land,  a  tract  of  seven  thousand 
acres,  was  sold  under  the  hammer,  at  less  than  fifty  cents 
per  acre;  and  some  for  less  than  that  price. 

A  good  story  is  told  of  an  Irishman,  passing  through 
Dodge  City,  from  Morton  county  in  the  southwest  part 
of  Kansas,  on  his  way  to  his  wife's  folks  in  the  East,  with 
a  little  old  team  of  horses,  a  wagon,  and  a  small  cow  tied 
behind  the  wagon.  He  stopped  to  water  his  team,  and, 
when  someone  asked  him  where  he  was  from  and  what 
were  the  conditions  out  there,  he  said,  "It  is  a  beautiful 
country  for  prospects,  bless  your  soul!"  "Why  did  you 
leave?"  he  was  asked.  "Got  tired;  and  my  wife  wanted 
to  see  her  folks,"  he  replied.  "What  is  the  price  of  land 
out  there?"  He  said:  "Come  here!  you  see  that  little 
cow  behind  the  wagon;  I  traded  a  quarter  section  of  land 
for  her,  and  by  gobs;  before  I  made  the  deed,  I  found 
the  critter  I  sold  to  couldn't  read,  so  I  just  slipped  in  the 
other  quarter  section  I  had  into  the  deed,  and  the  fellow 
didn't  know  it." 

Our  town  and  country  was  likened  to  a  rich  family 
which,  through  extravagance  and  bad  management,  was 
reduced  to  extreme  poverty.   When  they  were  down  to 

— 326 — 


the  lowest  ebb  and  everything  was  gone,  the  head  of  the 
family  caught  the  eldest  son  in  tears.  He  said  to  him, 
"My  son,  what  are  you  crying  for?"  "My  God,  father!" 
he  replied,  "we  have  nothing  left,  whatever."  "That  is  so, 
my  son;  but  cheer  up!"  the  father  said:  "Don't  you  see.'* 
we  are  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  and  we  can  go  no  further 
down;  so  we  are  bound  to  climb." 

Thus  it  was  with  Dodge  City.  She  was  at  the  very 
foot  of  the  ladder,  and  was  bound  to  climb;  and  so  she 
did,  after  she  started — slow,  at  first,  but  after  we  caught 
our  second  wind,  then  by  leaps  and  bounds.  We  com- 
menced to  go  up.  Our  wheat  which  had  been  selling  for 
40  cents  per  bushel  went  up  to  60  cents ;  our  seasons  began 
to  improve,  and  our  farmers  take  fresh  heart  and  put  in 
a  larger  acreage  of  wheat  and  other  crops;  and  cattle  be- 
gan to  go  way  up.  Our  people  sold  their  wheat  and  in- 
vested in  cattle;  and  sold  their  increase  in  cattle  and  bought 
cheap  lands;  and  so  it  went,  until  our  country  got  to  be 
the  third  largest  wheat  county,  two  or  three  million 
bushels  each  year.  In  the  harvest  of  1912,  Ford  county 
was  second  in  Kansas,  in  wheat  production.  With  the 
proceeds  from  their  wheat,  farmers  bought  more  land 
and  erected  business  houses  in  Dodge  City.  And  now 
Dodge  can  boast  of  the  second  finest  courthouse,  if  not 
the  finest  in  the  state,  a  handsome  city  hall,  a  great  sys- 
tem of  waterworks  and  electric  lights  in  splendid  build- 
ings, while  our  jail  is  a  modern  building,  and  our  schools 
and  magnificent  churches  are  second  to  none. 

Out  of  a  great  conflict  rises  a  period  of  prosperity. 
To  have  gone  through  this  endurance  of  adversity,  equip- 
ped the  people  with  courage  and  a  sense  of  stability  and 
prudence,  which  not  only  gives  them  caution,  but  nerve, 
in  making  Dodge  City  the  commercial  city  of  western 
Kansas. 

As  a  close  to  this  work,  in  addition  to  what  has  al- 
ready been  said  in  the  same  vein,  a  glimpse  of  the  Dodge 
City  of  today,  lying  in  the  brilliant  summer  sunshine  of 

—327— 


1913?  must  be  given,  or  our  subject  will  fall  short  of  re- 
ceiving complete  justice.  A  marked  change  from  the 
feverish  commotion  of  its  first  great  boom,  or  the  terrible 
stagnation  and  desolation  of  its  time  of  depression,  is 
apparent.  The  happy  medium,  in  its  perfection,  has  been 
struck  by  the  town,  at  last.  It  is  now  a  busy,  bustling, 
city  of  5,000  people,  all  push  and  energy,  building  up  and 
reaching  out  and  making  every  other  sort  of  steady  prog- 
ress toward  development  and  improvement,  socially,  fin- 
ancially, and  esthetically,  without  any  wild  clamor  about 
it.  Nor  is  this  general  progress  dependent  upon  any 
transient  traffic  or  local  condition,  as  was  the  first  great 
era  of  prosperity.  It  is  founded  on  the  broader,  firmer 
foundation  of  the  development  of  territory  and  the  na- 
tural pressure  of  modern  civilization,  and  must,  in  the 
very  nature  of  things,  continue  indefinitely  and  be  per- 
manent, with  nothing  mushroom  like  in  its  nature. 

The  change  is  great  and  keenly  apparent  to  any  ob- 
server of  recent  years;  how  infinitely  greater,  then,  it 
must  be,  and  how  much  more  apparent  to  us  who  have 
watched  the  progress  of  Dodge,  from  its  very  beginning. 
Rich,  green  fields  of  alfalfa,  and  others  of  golden  wheat, 
now  surround  the  town,  in  place  of  the  bare  prairies  of 
old;  farm  houses,  handsome  and  commodious,  with  orch- 
ards, gardens,  and  pastures,  occupy  the  place  in  the  land- 
scape once  filled  by  the  humble  cabins,  and  'dobe  or  sod 
houses,  where  the  pioneer  settler  lived  so  long,  in  daily 
fear  for  his  life  at  the  mercy  of  murderous  Indians;  the 
primitive  fording  places  of  the  river,  and  their  successor, 
the  rude  wooden  bridge  of  early  days,  have  been  replaced 
by  a  steel  and  concrete  bridge,  double-tracked  and  electric 
lighted,  across  which  are  continually  whirring  smart  ve- 
hicles and  elegant  automobiles,  in  place  of  the  lumbering 
ox  wagon  or  the  spur-driven  cow  pony;  the  weather- 
worn, blood-stained,  old  Santa  Fe  trail  is  now  being 
honored  as  a  distinguished  historical  highway  and  having 
its  course  marked,  at  intervals,  by  granite  tablets,  and  a 

—328— 


fine  automobile  road  alongside;  even  the  river  shows 
change,  its  channel  being  narrowed  and  volume  dimin- 
ished by  its  contribution  to  irrigation  projects  above 
Dodge  City,  but  this  slight  defection  is  more  than  repaid 
by  the  additional  verdure  and  bloom  and  wealth  produced 
by  the  stolen  waters. 

Though  enormous  crops  of  wheat  and  alfalfa  are 
raised,  without  artificial  aid,  and  the  bulk  of  these  staples 
are  produced  without  it,  irrigation  is  quite  common  in 
the  vicinity  of  Dodge  City.  Many  of  the  irrigaton  plants 
are  private  property,  consisting,  mainly,  of  deep  wells, 
sunk  to  tap  the  underflow  of  the  river,  and  fitted  with 
pumps  to  bring  the  water  to  the  surface.  This  underflow 
is  practically  inexhaustible,  and  the  amount  of  water  a 
farmer  wishes  to  use  need  be  limited  only  by  the  number 
of  wells  he  is  able  to  put  down. 

In  contrast  to  these  small  systems,  is  the  largest  irri- 
gation project  in  Dodge  City's  neighborhood,  the  great 
Eureka  Ditch.  This  enterprise  was  first  conceived  by  the 
Gilbert  brothers,  John  and  George,  two  of  the  most  en- 
terprising and  go-ahead  citizens  that  ever  struck  this  or 
any  other  country;  and  they  were  backed,  financially,  by 
the  great  "Hop  Bitters"  man,  Mr.  A.  T.  Soule,  of  Roch- 
ester, New  York,  who  was  also  the  founder  of  our  big 
college. 

By  the  side  of  the  river  is  Wright  Park,  which  it 

was  the  pleasure  of  the  writer  to  donate  to  the  city,  in 

1897,  and  which,  in  1880,  was  a  piece  of  land  newly  set 

with  young  trees.  It  is  now  a  large  grove  of  magnificent 

trees,  the  only  indication  of  their  not  being  natural  forest 

being  the  somewhat  regular  manner  in  which  they  stand. 

Of  this  park,  a  local  paper  is  good  enough  to  say:  "The 

Wright  Park  is  an  institution  of  the  city,  highly  valued 

for  its  use  in  the  purposes  for  which  it  was  intended.  In 

this  city  park,  public  gatherings  of  all  kinds  are  held,  free 

of  charge.   The  public  spirit  of  Mr.  Wright  was  mani- 

—329— 


fested  on  many  occasions,  but  in  none,  will  be  surpassed 
that  of  the  park  donation,  which  will  be  a  living  monu- 
ment to  his  memory.  The  only  reservation  Mr.  Wright 
made,  in  donating  the  park,  was  that  it  was  to  be  called, 
*Wright  Park,'  always.  Mr.  Wright  also  donated  thir- 
teen acres  of  land  where  the  Harvey  eating  house  stands, 
to  the  railroad  company,  on  condition  that  a  park  be  es- 
tablished; and  also  that  citizens  of  Dodge  City  should 
be  charged  only  fifty  cents  a  meal.  But  the  latter  agree- 
ment was  carried  out  for  a  short  time  only;  and  the  lay- 
ing out  and  cultivation  of  a  park  is  still  deferred — now 
nearly  seventeen  years  having  elapsed." 

The  changes  and  growth  in  Wright  Park  is  dupli- 
cated in  many  other  institutions  of  Dodge  City.  Every- 
where, brick,  stone,  and  concrete  supplant  the  frame 
structures  of  former  days.  And  even  good  brick  and 
stone  structures  of  earlier  times,  have  been  replaced  by 
others  of  more  elegant  quality  or  design.  An  example  is 
the  courthouse  which,  first  built  of  brick  and  stone,  was 
recently  torn  down  and  replaced  by  the  just  completed 
elegant  structure  of  white  stone  and  marble,  a  delight  to 
the  eye  in  every  line  and  detail.  The  contract  for  the 
building  of  the  city  hall,  a  beautiful  architectural  speci- 
men of  brick  and  white  stone,  in  the  midst  of  spacious, 
well-kept  grounds,  was  given  in  October,  1887,  to  Messrs. 
Sweeney  and  Toley,  for  the  sum  of  $19,800.  The  work  on 
the  Methodist  college  was  under  way,  at  this  time,  up- 
wards of  thirty-seven  thousand  dollars  being  expended; 
but,  in  the  time  of  depression,  the  building  was  discon- 
tinued, and  the  property  finally  abandoned  as  a  college. 
Just  recently,  however,  it  has  been  bought  entire  by  the 
Roman  Catholics,  and  is  now  being  overhauled  and  re- 
fitted, preparatory  to  the  opening  of  a  large  school  there 
at  once. 

The  ward  school  buildings  of  Dodge,  of  which  there 

are  three,  are  large  and  substantial  structures  of  brick 

—330— 


and  stone.  The  handsomest,  the  present  high  school  build- 
ing, occupies  the  site  of  old  "Boot  Hill,"  a  mute  but  ever 
present  and  immutable  witness  of  how  thoroughly  culture 
and  education  has  replaced  violence  and  lawlessness  in 
that  locality.  Roomy  as  are  her  school  facilities,  however, 
they  cannot  accommodate  the  continually  growing  num- 
ber of  Dodge  City's  school  population,  and  plans  are  now 
under  way  for  the  building  of  a  new  high  school  building, 
larger,  handsomer,  and  more  strictly  modern  than  any 
of  the  others,  admirable  though  they  certainly  are. 

The  good  old  Santa  Fe  Railroad  has  also  redeemed 
itself  in  the  public  mind,  and  resumed  its  part  in  the  up- 
building and  advancement  of  Dodge  City.  Its  great 
roundhouse  and  machine  shops  of  a  division  are  located 
here,  a  handsome  station  has  taken  the  place  of  the  box- 
car and  small  station  house  of  early  days,  an  elegant 
"Harvey  House"  hotel  is  maintained,  and  a  ten  thousand- 
dollar  freight  depot  of  brick  and  stone  has  just  been  com- 
pleted by  the  road.  This  last  statement,  alone,  is  proof 
that  the  freight  traffic  over  the  Santa  Fe,  at  Dodge  City, 
is  still  highly  important,  while  the  passenger  service  is 
equally  important,  and  perfect  in  appointment  and  con- 
venience. 

Among  the  churches,  the  Christian  denomination 
was  the  first  to  erect  a  large  and  handsome  church  build- 
ing of  brick  and  stone,  which  is  an  ornament  to  the  city. 
The  Methodists  have  just  completed  an  elegant  twenty- 
five  thousand-dollar  edifice  of  brick,  stone,  and  concrete; 
while  the  Presbyterians  contemplate  the  erection  of  an 
equally  handsome  building,  in  the  near  future.  The 
Episcopal  church,  though  small,  is  a  little  gem — the  most 
artistic  building  in  Dodge  City.  With  its  brown  stone 
walls,  colored  glass  windows,  and  square  bell  tower,  it  is 
delightfully  suggestive  of  the  chapels  of  rural  England. 
The  Baptist  church,  though  large,  is  of  frame;  but  it  oc- 
cupies the  most  centrally  located  site  of  any  church  in 

—331— 


town.  It  is  directly  opposite  the  Public  Library,  another 
handsome,  modern  building  of  brick  and  stone,  wherein 
a  large  free  library  is  maintained  for  the  edification  and 
education  of  the  people  of  the  city. 

However,  among  all  the  handsome  buildings  of  mod- 
ern Dodge  City,  from  her  perfectly  appointed  signal  sta- 
tion, to  her  huge  grain  elevators,  there  is  not  one  which 
she  cherishes  more  highly  nor  of  which  she  is  more  proud, 
than  of  a  modest  little  cottage  in  the  heart  of  the  city. 
This  is  the  oldest  house  in  town,  though  it  is  so  well 
preserved  that  no  one  would  suspect  it  to  be  Dodge's 
oldest  house  in  point  of  service.  It  is  as  strong  and  sub- 
stantial as  it  was  thirty  years  ago,  and  is  still  doing  splen- 
did service  as  a  residence.  I  wrote  a  brief  description  of 
this  house  for  the  "Dodge  City  Globe",  of  November 
9th,  191 1,  which  follows.  Said  the  "Globe": 

"It  is  a  cold  day  when  R.  M.  Wright,  pioneer  plains- 
man and  freighter,  cannot  get  up  a  good  story  about 
Dodge  City.  His  latest  one  is  about  the  oldest  house  in 
the  town.  In  writing  this  little  sketch  for  the  'Globe', 
Mr.  Wright  lets  the  hquse  tell  its  own  story,  in  the  follow- 
ing language: 

"  'Not  many  houses  can  tell  a  story  like  mine.  I  am 

by  far  the  oldest  house  in  Dodge  City.  Mine  has  been  a 

checkered  career.  I  was  first  built  in  Abilene,  then  taken 

down  and  moved  to  Salina,  and  from  there  to  Ellsworth. 

Nothing  doing  in  the  way  of  excitement  up  to  my  advent 

in  Ellsworth.  There  my  trouble  as  well  as  my  festivities 

began.  From  that  time  on,  I  led  a  gay  and  festive  life, 

interspersed  with  some  sad  tragedies.    Many  fights  and 

scraps  were  inaugurated  there,  in  the  wee  small  hours  of 

the  night;  and  once  a  murder  was  committed,  as  well  as 

several  duels  started.    I  said  murder;  in  those  days  we 

called  it  "shooting"  and  the  man  who  did  not  get  the 

drop  was  the  "unfortunate."    Then  I  was  moved  to  Fort 

Dodge  and  first  occupied  by  Charles  F.  Tracy,  who  was 

—332— 


succeeded  by  John  E.  Tappen,  and  he  by  R.  M.  Wright, 
post-trader,  and  he  by  James  Langton  and  his  deHghtful 
sister,  who  was  a  great  entertainer. 

"  'Here  is  where  I  had  a  gay  time,  as  night  after 
night,  the  officers  of  the  post  congregated  there,  to  have 
a  good  time.  And  they  had  it;  never  were  they  disap- 
pointed in  this.  Cards,  dancing,  and  music  were  the 
principal  programme  features,  ending  with  sumptuous 
repasts  about  midnight.  There  have  I  entertained  lords, 
dukes,  and  other  great  men  of  Europe  as  well  as  America. 
Among  those  who  have  sat  at  the  festive  board  were 
Generals  Sherman,  Sheridan,  Miles,  Forsythe,  and  Pope; 
and  brigadiers,  colonels,  lieutenant-colonels,  and  majors 
too  numerous  to  mention.  Once  I  was  graced  by  the  presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  President  Hayes. 

"'From  Fort  Dodge,  I  was  moved  to  Dodge  City, 
where  I  have  led  a  very  peaceful  life,  in  my  old  age.  I 
am  now  occupied  by  W.  B.  Rhodes  and  family.  Under 
all  my  owners,  I  have  never  been  changed,  but  remain 
exactly  the  same  building  as  when  I  was  first  erected, 
even  to  the  two  ells  and  porch.  I  now  stand  on  the  corner 
of  Vine  street  and  First  avenue,  a  venerable  relic  of  my 
past  days  of  glory  and  splendor.' " 

But  why  continue  further  with  the  enumeration  of 

the  noteworthy  features  of  our  city,  and  the  description 

of  the  transformations  that  have  taken  place  on  every 

side  within  her  boundaries,  since  the  time  when  the  Lady 

Gay  dance  hall  was  the  center  of  social  Dodge,  and  Boot 

Hill  the  boundary  line  of  the  great  buffalo  range.  Change, 

change,  everywhere  change,  and  for  the  better,  is  all  that 

can  be  seen.    Did  I  say  everywhere  ?    I  don't  quite  mean 

that.     There  is  one  place  where  Dodge  City  has  not 

changed;  her  spirit  of  hospitality  and  benevolence,  of 

liberality  and  justice,  of  kindliness  to  strangers  and  good 

cheer  to  unfortunates,  is  the  same  today  as  it  was  when 

—333— 


the  people  cheered  and  exulted  over  the  privilege  of  send- 
ing aid  to  the  yellow^  fever  sufferers;  or  w^hen  they  risked 
life  itself  to  rescue  some  frail  woman  from  the  horrors 
of  Indian  captivity.  There  is  an  indescribable,  feeling  of 
kindliness,  good  fellow^ship,  and  homelikeness  in  the  very 
atmosphere  of  Dodge.  The  stranger  feels  it,  immediately 
upon  his  arrival,  and  no  matter  hov^  long  he  stays,  he 
finds  it  continually  made  good.  Snobbery  and  arrogance 
are  little  known  in  her  social  circles.  Her  wealthiest  and 
most  influential  citizens  are  simple,  hearty,  whole-souled 
human  beings,  with  the  human  quality  pronounced  in 
its  degree;  and  there  is  a  warmth  and  freedom  of  social 
intercourse  among  her  residents,  or  extended  from  the 
residents  to  sojourners  in  the  town,  that  seems  the  very 
manifestation  of  the  western  spirit  of  our  dreams,  or  as 
if  Dodge  City  might  be  the  ideal,  "where  the  West  be- 
gins," as  described  in  Arthur  Chapman's  lovely  little 
poem: 

"Out  where  the  hand  clasps  a  little  stronger; 

Out  where  a  smile  dwells  a  little  longer; 
That's  where  the  West  begins: 

Out  where  the  sun  is  a  little  brighter; 

Where  the  snows  that  fall  are  a  trifle  whiter; 

Where  the  bonds  of  home  are  a  wee  bit  tighter; 
That's  where  the  West  Begins. 

"Out  where  the  skies  are  a  trifle  bluer; 
Out  where  friendship's  a  little  truer; 

That's  where  the  West  begins : 
Out  where  a  fresher  breeze  is  blowing; 
Where  there's  laughter  in  every  streamlet  flowing; 
Where  there's  more  of  reaping  and  less  of  sowing; 

That's  where  the  West  Begins. 

"Out  where  the  world  is  in  the  making; 

Where  fewer  hearts  with  despair  are  aching; 

That's  where  the  West  begins: 
—334— 


Where  there's  more  of  singing  and  less  of  sighing; 
Where  there's  more  of  giving  and  less  of  buying; 
And  a  man  makes  friends  without  half  trying; 
That's  where  the  West  begins." 


—335- 


o^PPENDIX 

I.  Robert  M.  Wright  (see  frontispiece)  was  born  at 
Bladensburg,  Prince  George  County,  Maryland,  Septem- 
ber 2,  1840.  His  father  was  born  at  Alexandria,  Virginia, 
in  1800,  and  when  a  mere  boy  was  on  the  battle-field  of 
Bladensburg,  administering  to  the  wounded  soldiers.  His 
great-grandfather  was  a  Presbyterian  minister,  and  dur- 
ing the  Revolutionary  war  raised  a  regiment  of  militant 
plowboys,  at  Elizabethtown,  New  Jersey,  of  which  he  had 
command  at  the  battle  of  the  Meadows.  The  British  set 
a  price  on  his  head  and  destroyed  all  his  property.  His 
wife  was  shot  by  a  Hessian  soldier,  as  she  sat  at  her 
window  with  a  babe  in  her  arms.  Her  husband  was  killed 
by  Tories.  His  grandfather  on  his  mother's  side  was  Elias 
Boudinot  Coldwell,  for  many  years  clerk  of  the  United 
States  supreme  court,  whose  residence,  and  private  library, 
which  had  been  loaned  to  Congress,  were  destroyed  by 
the  British  in  the  war  of  18 12.  When  sixteen  years  old, 
Robert  M.  Wright  took  a  notion  to  come  West.  He  settled 
in  Missouri  and  worked  on  a  farm  near  St.  Louis  until 
1859.  He  made  an  overland  trip  with  oxen  in  that  year, 
reaching  the  town  of  Denver  in  May.  He  crossed  the 
plains  four  times  by  wagon  and  twice  by  coach.  He 
worked  for  three  years  for  Sanderson  &  Company,  and 
then  became  a  contractor  for  cutting  hay,  wood,  and 
hauling  grain.  He  was  appointed  post-trader  at  Fort 
Dodge  in  1867.  He  has  been  farmer,  stockman,  contractor, 
postmaster,  and  merchant.  He  has  four  times  represented 
Ford  county  in  the  legislature.  In  1899  he  was  appointed 
commissioner  of  forestry,  and  was  reappointed  in  1901. 
He  resides  in  Dodge  City. 

The  July,  1912,  number  of  the  "Santa  Fe  Employer's 
Magazine"  says  of  Mr.  Wright: 

"No  account  of  Dodge  City  is  quite  complete  without 
—336— 


reference  to  R.  M.  Wright.  Going  into  western  Kansas  in 
a  very  early  day,  this  gentleman  was,  in  1866,  appointed 
post  trader  at  Fort  Dodge.  During  a  long  and  prosperous 
career,  he  has  been  successively  a  stockman,  freighter, 
contractor,  merchant,  politician,  farmer,  county  treasurer, 
state  forest  commissioner,  postmaster,  and  representative 
of  Ford  county  four  times  in  the  legislature,  and  once 
mayor  of  Dodge  City.  No  man  has  been  more  closely 
identified  with  the  remarkable  history  of  Ford  county 
than  Mr.  Wright.  He  is  now  living  in  feeble  retirement 
in  the  old  town  which  he  helped  make  famous,  while  his 
experiences  would  fill  an  interesting  volume.  The  follow- 
ing is  given  as  a  characteristic  anecdote  of  his  early  life. 
It  happened  while  Bob  was  serving  as  mayor  of  Dodge. 

"One  day  a  cow-puncher  came  to  town,  bent  on  hav- 
ing a  good  time,  so  he  sauntered  into  the  Green  Front 
saloon  and  played  his  money  on  a  sure  thing  game.  In 
a  short  time,  he  and  his  Httle  pile  were  parted.  Sore  at 
his  ill  luck,  he  determined  to  prefer  charges  against  the 
proprietor  for  running  a  gambling  joint,  so  he  hunted 
up  the  Honorable  Bob  Wright,  at  that  time  mayor,  and 
after  introducing  himself,  presented  his  case  in  this 
manner: 

"  *A  feller  in  that  'ere  Green  Front  has  just  robbed 
me  of  more'n  sixteen  dollars,  an'  I  wants  ter  have  'im 
pulled.' 

"  *Been  gambling,  have  you?'  retorted  the  Honorable 
Bob.  Then  addressing  the  city  marshal.  Bill  Tilghman, 
who  was  just  crossing  the  street,  he  yelled:  'Here,  Bill, 
is  a  fellow  that  has  been  gambling.  Run  him  in.'  So 
they  hauled  the  prisoner  to  the  police  court,  where  he  was 
fined  ten  dollars  and  costs,  as  an  object  lessen  to  those 
who  might  presume  to  violate  the  anti-gambling  ordinance 
of  Dodge  City." 

2.  The  Dodge  City  Town  Company  (see  Chapter  I, 

page  9)   was  organized  in  1872,  with  R.  M.  Wright, 

—337— 


president;  Colonel  Richard  I.  Dodge,  commanding  Fort 
Dodge;  Major  E.  B.  Kirk,  post  quartermaster;  Major 
W.  S.  Tremaine,  post  surgeon ;  and  Captain  T.  C.  Tupper. 
The  county  of  Ford  was  organized  in  1873.  Dodge  City, 
according  to  the  census  of  1901,  had  2,199  population, 
and  the  county  of  Ford,  5,302,  since  when,  however,  said 
population  has  probably  doubled.  The  town  is  four  miles 
west  of  the  site  of  the  fort. 

3.  Jim  and  Bill  Anderson  (see  Chapter  I,  page  11) 
killed  Judge  Baker  and  his  father-in-law,  George  Segur, 
at  Baker's  home  on  Rock  Creek,  a  few  miles  east  of  Coun- 
cil Grove,  on  the  night  of  July  3rd,  1862.  Baker  kept  a 
supply  store  near  the  Santa  Fe  trail.  The  Andersons 
were  hard  characters  from  Missouri.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  war  they  took  to  the  brush.  On  one  of  their 
marauding  expeditions  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  they 
stole  two  horses  from  Mr.  Segur.  Baker  and  friends  gave 
chase,  and,  overtaking  the  party  west  of  Council  Grove, 
recovered  the  horses.  Baker  swore  out  a  warrant  for  the 
arrest  of  the  Andersons.  Old  man  Anderson,  hearing  of 
this,  swore  he  would  take  Baker's  life,  and,  arming  him- 
self with  a  rifle,  started  for  Baker's  home.  Baker  had 
been  informed,  met  him  prepared,  and,  getting  the  first 
shot,  killed  Anderson.  July  2nd,  the  Andersons  skulked 
around  Baker's  home,  but  the  latter  was  at  Emporia.  He 
returned  on  the  night  of  the  3rd.  Baker  and  Segur  after 
dark,  were  called  out,  both  were  wounded,  and,  retreating 
into  the  house,  took  refuge  in  the  cellar.  The  house  was 
fired,  and  Baker  burned  to  death,  and  Segur,  who  escaped, 
died  the  next  day. 

4.  Fort  Lyon,  Colorado,  (see  Chapter  I,  page  12) 
was  originally  established  August  29th,  i860,  near  Bent's 
Fort,  on  the  Arkansas  River,  and  called  Fort  Wise.  The 
name  was  changed  June  25th,  1862.  June  9th,  1867,  the 
post  was  newly  located  at  a  point  twenty  miles  distant, 
on  the  north  bank  of  the  Arkansas,  two  and  one-half  miles 

—338— 


below  the  Purgatory  River,  in  latitude  38°  5'  36'',  longi- 
tude 26°  30'  west. 

5.  Fort  Larned  (see  Chapter  I,  page  12),  was  estab- 
lished October  22nd,  1858,  for  the  protection  of  the  Santa 
Fe  trade,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Pawnee  Fork,  about 
seven  miles  above  its  mouth,  38°  10'  north  latitude,  longi- 
tude 22°  west.  It  was  namecl,  June,  i860,  for  Colonel 
B.  F.  Larned,  then  paymaster-general,  though  first  called 
Camp  Alert. 

6.  Fort  Dodge  (see  Chapter  I,  page  12),  was  located 
in  1864,  by  General  G.  M.  Dodge,  United  States  volun- 
teers, the  site  being  an  old  camping  ground  for  trains 
going  to  New  Mexico.  It  is  in  latitude  37°  50'  north, 
longitude  100°  west.  A  Colorado  regiment  camped  there 
before  the  establishment  of  the  post.  It  was  a  four-com- 
pany post,  and  was  abandoned  in  1882. 

7.  Colonel  Aubrey  (see  Chapter  I,  page  14),  was  a 
French  Canadian  by  birth,  and  made  two  trips  on  horse- 
back between  Santa  Fe  and  Independence;  the  first  in 
eight  days,  in  1850;  and  the  second,  on  a  wager  of  one 
thousand  dollars,  in  five  days,  in  1852.  He  was  killed  by 
Major  R.  H.  Weightman,  once  editor  of  the  Santa  Fe 
"Herald."  See  "The  Overland  Stage  to  California,"  (by 
Frank  A.  Root,  1901),  pages  54  and  425. 

8.  Fort  Atkinson  (see  Chapter  I,  page  12),  a  gov- 
ernment post  on  the  Arkansas  River,  twenty-six  miles 
below  the  crossings  of  the  Arkansas;  established  August 
8th,  1850;  abandoned  October  2nd,  1854.  According  to 
Gregg's  "Commerce  of  the  Plains,"  issued  in  1854,  Point 
of  Rocks  was  six  hundred  and  ten  miles  out  from  Inde- 
pendence, Missouri,  and  the  crossing  of  the  Arkansas  was 
about  Cimarron  station,  on  the  Santa  Fe  railroad. 

9.  Pawnee  Rock  (see  Chapter  II,  page  24).  This 
story  was  first  written  for  and  published  in  "Echos  from 
Pawnee  Rock,"  a  small  book  from  various  authors'  writ- 
ings, compiled  by  the  ladies  of  Hutchinson,  in  honor  of 

—339— 


the  historic  spot.    In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Wright,  from  one  of 
the  ladies  who  had  charge  of  the  book,  the  lady  says: 

"I  hear  many  complimentary  comments  upon  your 
article.  A  Hutchinson  business  man,  who  is  something  of 
a  literary  critic,  bought  the  first  copy  of  the  "Echos" 
sold  here  and  remained  away  from  his  store  in  the  after- 
noon to  read  the  book.  When  he  next  saw  me  he  said, 
'Robert  M.  Wright  is  the  whole  thing  in  your  little  book.* 

"If  there  were  time  I  could  mention  other  apprecia- 
tive remarks  about  your  popular  contribution. 

"I  am  very  grateful  for  your  support  during  the 
months  I  worked  on  the  book.  In  spite  of  some  discour- 
agement, the  work  was  very  enjoyable,  and  I  have  been 
paid  a  thousand  times  by  the  appreciative  interest  of 
patriotic  Kansans. 

"I  hope  you  may  be  present  when  the  Rock  is 
formally  transferred  to  the  State. 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"Margaret  Perkins." 

10.  The  Chivington  fight  (see  Chapter  III,  page  59) 
occurred  in  the  autumn  of  1864.  In  the  summer  of  that 
year  a  band  of  Cheyenne  Indians,  under  the  control  of 
Black  Kettle  and  White  Antelope,  about  four  hundred 
and  fifty  in  all,  together  with  about  fifty  Arapahoes, 
under  Left  Hand,  known  to  be  friendly  Indians,  came 
to  the  vicinity  of  Fort  Lyon,  Colorado,  in  compliance 
with  the  order  of  Governor  Evans,  acting  superintendent 
of  Indian  affairs.  This  was  done  with  the  understanding 
that  they  were  to  be  protected  from  the  soldiers  who 
were  to  take  the  field  against  hostiles.  They  remained 
in  this  camp  for  some  time,  giving  up  their  arms,  and 
depending  upon  rations  for  their  food.  Their  weapons 
were  then  restored  to  them  by  Major  Scott  J.  Anthony, 
who  had  in  the  meantime  superseded  Major  E.  W.  Wyn- 
koop  in  the  command  of  that  military  district,  and  they 
were  told  to  go  into  camp  on  Sand  Creek,  about  thirty- 
five  miles  from  Fort  Lyon.    This  they  did,  relying  on 

—340— 


o 
o 
ir\ 

H 

O 

< 


X 

w 
w 

Pi 
U 

•z 

o 
o 
U 

M 
►J 
H 
H 


the  hunt  for  food,  and  maintaining  friendly  relations  with 
the  whites.  On  the  morning  of  November  29th,  about 
daybreak,  they  were  surprised  by  United  States  troops, 
under  Colonel  J.  M.  Chivington,  the  commander  of  that 
district.  An  indiscriminate  slaughter  of  men,  women, 
and  children  followed.  The  three  principal  chiefs  were 
killed.  Many  of  the  Indians  escaped  on  horseback  and  on 
foot,  though  followed  by  the  mounted  soldiers.  Of  the 
five  hundred  in  camp,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  were 
supposed  to  have  been  killed,  two-thirds  being  women 
and  children.  (See  U.  S.  Spec.  Com.  on  Indian  tribes.  Re- 
port 1867,  B.  F.  Wade,  chairman;  Official  Records'  War 
of  the  Rebellion,  vol.  41^  pt.  i,  page  948.) 

Rev.  John  M.  Chivington  came  to  Denver  in  May, 
i860,  having  been  assigned,  the  previous  March,  to  the 
Rocky  Mountain  district,  by  the  Kansas  and  Nebraska 
conference.  He  had  already  served  that  conference  in 
Nebraska.  In  the  fall  of  1861  the  first  regiment  of  Colo- 
rado volunteers  was  organized;  John  P.  Slough,  colonel; 
Samuel  F.  Tappan,  lieutenant-colonel;  and  John  M.  Chiv- 
ington, major.  April  13th,  1862,  Colonel  Slough  resigned, 
and  Major  Chivington  was  appointed  to  the  command  of 
the  regiment,  in  recognition  of  his  efficient  service  in 
New  Mexico.  In  June,  1862,  he  was  placed  in  command 
of  the  southern  district  of  New  Mexico,  from  which  his 
regiment  was  relieved  at  his  own  request  and  returned 
to  Colorado  the  following  January.  November  29th, 
1864,  he  led  the  Colorado  troops  in  the  massacre  of  Black 
Kettle's  band  of  Cheyenne  Indians  at  Sand  Creek,  Colo- 
rado. 

In  1858  and  1859  there  lived  in  Lecompton  a  harness- 
maker  by  the  name  o^ohn  Fribley.  Years  after  the  war 
the  writer  met  Fribley,  who  said  he  was  with  Chiv- 
ington at  that  massacre.  He  was  asked  why  the  soldiers 
committed  such  an  awful  thing.  He  responded  that  on 
their  march  from  Denver  to  Lyon  the  command  called  at 

the  house  of  a  popular  ranchman,  where  travelers  and 

—341—. 


soldiers  frequently  stopped,  and  they  found  the  whole 
family  murdered,  the  wife  and  mother  lying  on  the  floor 
with  he  entrails  covering  her  face.  He  said  the  soldiers 
took  an  oath  to  kill  every  Indian  they  came  across. 

II.  Fort  Zarah  (see  Chapter  V,  page  91)  was  estab- 
lished September  6th,  1864,  by  General  Samuel  R.  Curtis, 
then  in  command  of  the  military  district,  and  named  in 
honor  of  his  son.  Major  H.  Zarah  Curtis,  who  was  killed 
at  the  Baxter  Springs  massacre,  while  on  General  Blunt's 
staff,  October  6th,  1863.  Fort  Zarah  was  about  five  miles 
east  of  Great  Bend,  in  the  present  Barton  county. 


—542— 


HOME  USE 

CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

MAIN  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 
1 -month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-340*5 
B-month  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books' 

to  Circulation  Desk. 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior 

to  due  date. 

ALL  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  RECALL  7  DAYS 

AFTER  DATE  CHECKED  OUT. 


>?'.iTrr7L?'"'7 


i^ERK. 


"^'^-l^ffBRARY  LOAN 


Df?C  1  5  iq7R 


^^^^^^y^^^^^UU^^r-MmKr 


P» 


LD21 — A-40m-12,'74 
(S2700L) 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


1 


32 


r 


VG  20328 


739296 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


Wi 


